The Old Familiar Places
by TourmalineTrue
Summary: 20 yrs later: "I love her and she loves me and together we hate each other with a wild hatred born of love"- J. August Strindberg. Only replace 'her' with 'him' & 'she' with 'he'. FINISHED!
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note_

From out of nowhere, this story started kicking around in my head, and since I had no luck in tying to dislodge it, I figured hey, what the hell.

It's weird to me to write such dramatic fic based off a show that's so wacky. But that kind of humor just isn't my forte, so whilst I _will_ attempt to inject some humor into this, it's not exactly laugh-a-minute stuff here, just be forewarned.

The idea for this story is, in my head, pretty well-formed, but whoever reads it must decide for his- or herself how well it flows as I actually compose it.

This fanfiction takes place twenty years in the future. It's another Brian-is-human one, and the reason _why he is_ is quite interesting. For now I'll just say that Stewie has an underlying sense of bitterness because he really feels as if he's owed something.

There have been a few glimpses of Stewie's future in the show, none seemingly having any compliance with each other. I didn't want to have him be uber successful here, nor a total loser, so I made him well-educated but a bit of a dilettante. As much as he used to mock him, I had Stewie turn out a bit like Brian. Whatever. It's how I see him becoming.

Okay, so here we go. Enjoy the story and please review!!!

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

_Introduction_

When Lois calls Brian, that drizzly morning in March, to tell him that Wendy is dead, the first words out of his mouth are,

"Was Captain Hook responsible?"

It takes several moments for it to occur to him that she is referring to Meg's husband, Wendell Goldman, cousin of her old admirer Neil, being, as it happened, just as forgettable a personality as Meg herself.

"The funeral's the day in three days. Will you come up for it?" asked Lois. "Pay your respects to a part of the family?"

"Uh, yeah, of course," Brian agrees, stabbing out his cigarette on the motel countertop.

"And maybe," there's something anxious in her voice, to which Brian can not attribute a cause. It's almost certainly not due to grief over the loss of her son-in-law. "You could…stay with us for a little while after. You know, we haven't seen a whole lot of you lately. You've sort of become a hermit." She punctuates this last with faux-casual laughter so it doesn't sound like an indictment.

He's heard it before, anyway. He isn't offended. He hops off the stool he'd pressed up to the counter, and carries his ashtray to the bathroom.

"Okay."

There is a long pause on the other end of the line and then Lois says "O-okay?" as if she can't quite believe what she's just heard. There's a barely audible sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Brian."

The ashes get dumped into the chipped porcelain toilet. Not keen for her to start asking how he was, and for the conversation to then drag on, Brian endeavors to put an end to it.

"No problem. Was that all?"

He can tell she is taken aback and thinks him rude by the way in which she replies, "Yes, that's all. So I'll see you soon. We'll all be here. Meg's staying at the house for awhile- she says she can't be alone right now. And Chris and Camille are in town…" her tone loses some of its vitriol as it fades out and then she clears her throat. "Stewie's been back for a couple weeks."

Reluctantly, a modicum of interest develops within Brian and he finds himself asking, "Really? Why?"

"I don't know. He hasn't said. Well, I'll let you go, then, Brian, and go make up your room. Be seeing you." And she hangs up the phone.

Brian flushs the toilet and stares down at the ash and cigarette butts swirling around in the rust-colored water, getting pulled down into an abyss of nihility and refuse.

_To Be Continued…_

**Again, please review!!!****J**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

When Stewie gets up in the morning he fixes breakfast. When Lois joins him in the kitchen after awakening to the smell of bacon and the sound of the blender, she heaps on him effusive praise at his thoughtfulness, ruffles his hair, and kisses him on the cheek.

He allows it, but snorts internally at her thinking he's doing it out of the goodness of his heart. Oh, well. Let her have it. Has anyone ever cooked a meal in her stead while under this roof? He's surprised she didn't faint clean away at the sight.

The truth is, he only decided on making breakfast out of desperation to do something constructive. He was awake all the previous night, alternately playing World of Warcraft and reading Nietzsche; like a vampire, he just doesn't seem to need to sleep that much anymore. It was something of a relief when it was finally light enough out to come downstairs and busy himself about the kitchen.

Anyway, he's a better cook than Lois.

Lois takes the plate off the counter and transfers it to the table, snatching up a slice of bacon as she does and nibbling on it. She makes a peculiar face.

"Stu, honey, this tastes…different." From her expression it's evident that she doesn't consider it 'good different'.

Rolling his enormous eyes, he turns to her and places his hands on his hips, which are swung out a little to one side. He's aware that he's assuming a rather effeminate pose, and it's not so much that he can't help it as that sometimes it's best to share only a sort of caricature version of yourself with certain people. Or most people.

"It's turkey bacon. It's better for you."

"Mmhm. Well, that's sweet, honey, but it's just…it's just not that good. What else did you make?"

"Muffins laced with rat poison," he mutters under his breath, not audible enough for her to hear. No, he's an adult now, and though in all probability fucked up in a range of interesting ways, he's long since abandoned his matricidal ambitions. He doesn't like Lois. She doesn't understand him. Then again, she also doesn't interfere. She seems to admire what she calls his 'free spirit'. She doesn't ask what he's doing back at home out of the clear blue.

He sighs and directs her to the (harmless) blueberry muffins, and fruit smoothies.

Presently, they hear Peter's hulking weight moving around on the floorboards above them, and scramble to eat their fill before he comes down and monopolizes the food. A sudden loud crash and Meg yelling something at Peter who giggles in response claims their collective attention for all of five seconds before Stewie coolly raises his glass to his lips and Lois takes a bite of muffin.

After she swallows she informs him, "Brian's coming home for the funeral. And then he's even going to stay for a few days to catch up with everyone."

Stewie just manages not to swallow his gulp of smoothie the wrong way.

"What? Here? In this house?"

Lois laughs. "Well, unless you think we should build a dog house and let him sleep in there instead."

"Not a bad idea," opines Stewie, thinking that his pulse shouldn't be quickening like it is.

__________________________________________________________________

A camp bed has been established in Chris's old room (now Lois's office) for Brian, and they are all piled into the car heading to the mall to buy sheets to fit it.

All except Meg, who has taken to wearing all black in observation of mourning, and tearfully shrieked at them as they were departing, "I can't believe you're leaving me alone in my hour of need, you bastards!"

Meg had far too many "hours of need."

"It will be so great to have the whole family together again!" Lois exclaims excitedly.

"Although a pity it must occur under these less than felicitous circumstances, of course" Stewie reminds her with a sneer. He is not all that interested in seeing proper respect is paid to the dead and it isn't like him to play the angel on his mother's shoulder, but he does oh, how he does _love_ to contradict the woman.

"Of course," says Lois dismissively. Then to her husband, "Peter, turn here."

_______________________________________________________________

Many hours later they find themselves finally returned to the house. The shopping excursion had been, in Stewie's view, excruciating. He loved interior decorating as much as the next gay man, but Lois's preoccupation with selecting _just_ the right linens exhausted even his enthusiasm. And then there was Peter, jumping up and down, reiterating in increasingly vociferous tones his desire to 'go to the cookie place', seemingly having forgotten that he was a grown man and could go by himself.

How Stewie then got wrangled into putting the sheets on what soon- and undoubtedly for a very short duration- would be Brian's bed he can't remember.

It leaves him shaken, though. He comes into the living room after completing his task feeling oddly nauseous. He wants to slap himself. After all, he'd only been assisting in preparation for the arrival of a long-absent family member. One he can't stand, in fact. If anything, he should really be angry that he is forced to be part of the welcome wagon. That he just made up a bed for somebody that treated him as shamefully as Brian did.

He is angry. But when he tries to force that anger to_ burn_, to summon it up from within himself, he can't. His anger is so dulled, now. Deeply ingrained, but stultified, an undertone of aching resentment.

Peter is at the bar. Meg is in her room (or what was her room and is now Lois's gym; Meg is sleeping atop a quilt on the bench press). Lois is out for a jog with her girlfriends. Stewie sits on the couch and gets to watch one episode of _Three's Company_ before the front door swings open and he looks around and Brian is standing there.

"I didn't know you still had your key," Stewie says dumbly.

"Uh, yeah, I-I didn't know either until this morning. Found it at the bottom of my old rucksack," Brian responds.

There is simply no explanation for his reaction to Brian. Sure, he hasn't seen the former family pet in- God, it must be coming on five years now!- but Brian hasn't changed one iota since the last time. Same white blond hair, cropped a little too close to his head; same pallid complexion; same wide, douche bag smile…

At the sight of him, though, the world seems to convulse and close in on itself, then go shock still.

Brian moves toward Stewie with his arms extended awkwardly, almost like he expects a hug or something, which is such a preposterous concept that Stewie very nearly laughs. He continues to stare back at the other man blankly until a strange expression crosses Brian's face and he drops his arms.

He hears the creak of the back door and Lois's happy shout of, "There's a Prius in the driveway! Is Brian here?"

Stewie calls back in the affirmative, stumbles to his feet, and practically races up the stairs to his room.

_To Be Continued…_

**Please Review!!!****J**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews I've received thus far!**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

_You look like shit, _Brian mentally tells his reflection in the mirror above Lois's desk. _And you can't even attribute it to the goddamn fifteen-hour drive here. You always look like shit lately- why don't you pull it together?_

Yes, those ugly dark blue circles have clearly established a permanent residence beneath his eyes.

He squeezes through the miniscule space between the desk and the cot on which rests his 'luggage'- one backpack and a small upright wheeled suitcase- and pulls on a fresh shirt. It's time to go down for dinner.

On the landing, he runs into Meg. Her hair has grown out longer and she has it styled into an atrociously unflattering, frizzy perm.

"Oh, Meg," he says kindly, taking her one of her pudgy pink hands in both of his, "I'm so awfully sorry about Wendy. You have my deepest sympathies."

Her eyes are swimming with tears.

"We had an aquarium together," she murmurs nonsensically. "Over twenty-five fish. He left all them behind." She emits a high-pitched squeak and oh, boy, there go the waterworks.

"Excuse me!" she cries, and dashes back upstairs.

She does not rejoin them at any part during the meal.

________________________________________________________________________

"Hey, Brian!" Peter greets him jovially, with a sound thump on the back as the Griffin family patriarch enters the dining room. "Great to see you, buddy! I hear you drove all the way here."

"I did."

"Eh, it was probably for the best," he remarks, helping himself to the large casserole dish full of chicken cacciatore in the center of the table. "I still don't like to get on a plane after Quagmire tried to fly Joe and me to Malibu and we ended up crashing in that Mormon community in Utah."

"Yes, but that being said, I doubt that planes crashing because the pilot was too busy being serviced by one of his kept Geisha girls to pay attention is a common occurrence," Brian points out.

"Nor is leaving the good folks he was forced to stay with in aforementioned Mormon community with nine kinds of venereal disease, I'll wager," Stewie adds.

Brian snickers and shoots a knowing grin his way, but for some reason Stewie is staring blankly into space, jaw slack, looking for all the world as though he is appalled by his own remark.

That's too wildly out of character to be plausible, however, so Brian reaches over as if to playfully shut Stewie's mouth for him.

"Careful, Stewie, or a bug might fly in."

Stewie jerks away as if burned. "Nobody calls me 'Stewie' anymore. It's either 'Stu' or 'Stewart', if you don't mind," he states primly.

Brian complacently studies the young man seated next to him. It is still so surreal to see a grown-up version of Stewie. He's altered so much, even since he was seventeen. He's tall now, taller than Peter, and just a little too thin. His hair is a wavy auburn, with face-framing fringe, and he is wearing really the most horrendous red silk shirt.

And yet…

"No," Brian laughs, "I _do _mind. You'll never be anything other than 'Stewie' to me."

Stewie blinks at him.

"So…," Brian begins awkwardly, drumming his fingers on his leg, "What's going on with you?"

Stewie blinks again. "Nothing."

"I mean- well, what are you doing for a living now?"

Stewie snorts. "I would think, was I doing _anything _at the time being, that Lois would've apprised you of it in her last Christmas letter."

"But you just came back recently, right? To Quahog? I thought maybe it was because you got offered a job or something."

"Nope," replies Stewie with false cheerfulness, "Haven't worked a day of my life since I graduated college, and I guess I'm not quite ready to start yet."

Brian arches a brow, then leans toward the younger man and whispers conspiratorially, "There must be another reason you came back, then- I hear tell Meg's husband has lately left us. You couldn't have had anything to do with that, could you?" He smiles. He's joking. Mostly.

Stewie's mouth tightens into a thin line. He cocks his head and asks, "I beg your pardon?"

Brian chuckles. "I just meant…"

"No, no, it's alright, I get you now, dog. You were merely speaking to me as though I was still an evil, megalomaniacal infant who dreams of world domination, am I correct?"

"Who are you now, then?" He poses the question with genuine curiosity, but a tiny frown appears to contort his expression. Somehow he knows this isn't Stewie being peevish and difficult like in the old days.

"A person it wouldn't do you the least bit of good to attempt to communicate with," Stewie advises him, eyes fixed determinedly on his plate as he saws into his chicken. "I'm so far beyond you, Brian, that you couldn't even see me with the Hubble Telescope." He pops a bite of chicken into his mouth.

"Wait a minute, are you saying you're better than me?" Brian asks angrily, eyes narrowed. When Stewie doesn't respond except for an affected sniff, Brian queries, "If that's not what you're saying, then how come I can't call you 'Stewie' anymore and you still get to call me 'dog'?"

"Because it looks like you'll always be a mangy mutt, no matter how hard some people worked to make it otherwise," Stewie replies matter-of-factly. He dabs with a napkin at the corner of his lips and abruptly stands.

"Thanks for dinner, Mother, but if you will excuse me…"

________________________________________________________________________

In the middle of the night, Brian gets up with the need to 'relieve himself'. Stepping out into a pitch black hall, he curses under his breath and runs his hand over the wall behind him, searching for a light switch. He's positive there used to be one somewhere along this hallway, but he can't remember where.

And while he walks along, fumbling in the dark trying to find it, a door ( the bathroom door, as it turns out) suddenly flies open and smacks the outside of his head.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Brian yelps, a smarting ache blooming behind his eyes, and his hand clutching his injured cranium.

"What in God's name…?" A soft, English-accented tenor greets his ears and suddenly a light flicks on. Brian squints through pain and the unexpected brightness to see Stewie standing there peering back at him and managing to look somewhat abashed.

"Sorry," he breathes, and he actually sounds sincere.

Brian feels himself softening a bit. ""S alright, Stewie, it's fine." He rubs at his wound and winces. He looks further down the hall the way he came and notices that Stewie's bedroom door is ajar, and what looks like the light from a computer is vaguely filtering through.

"Hey, you're still up at this hour?"

Rolling his eyes, Stewie drawls, "Obviously," in retort and attempts to move around Brian, who puts his hands on either side of the doorframe and blocks him in.

"You know what I mean. Not just to use the toilet, but you're still awake…doing stuff? Online?"

"Yes. Not that it's any of _your _business, Nosey Nettie, but I'm looking at porn. I suffer from insomnia, and I find the only way to get myself some shuteye is to effectively wank myself to sleep. So what do you have to say about that, hm?"

Brian knows that he is blushing scarlet. It recalls their early days, this discomfort at Stewie demonstrating that he is a sexual being. Well, at least now at his current age it's appropriate that he is…

The corner of Stewie's mouth twitches. "I thought so. Goodnight, Brian," he croons, ducking under Brian's arm and heading back toward his room.

He stops halfway and without turning around advises the former family dog, "Oh, and try not to dream about me tonight, yeah? You don't have my okay to do that."

Irritation sparks within Brian. "Fuck off!" he hisses, his face burning.

"Told you I already did," Stewie volleys back in a merry, carrying whisper.

Brian's fists clench and he steps hurriedly into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. He does his business and then gives himself an extended once-over in the mirror for the second time that day. A trickle of blood has emerged from beneath his hair. And he still looks very, very tired.

He can't help suspecting that this life, this house, _these people_ just aren't his anymore. He doesn't know how long he's expected to stay here, and frankly he doesn't care. There is no going backward; there is nowhere to go but forward.

_To Be Continued…_

**Don't forget to please review!!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks for the reviews and adding to alert lists, but pleeeaaase (pretty please with sugar on top and sprinkles) review this if you take the time to read it. Unsolicited feedback is a bitch, but what's even bitchier is asking for feedback and not getting any. So help me get some XD. (Um…just to clarify, I'm not calling you guys bitches. Even if you don't review, I'm not that mean. Just want to know how I'm doing ****J)**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

The wake is at 6 P.M.

Outside the funeral home, they meet up with Chris, his wife Camille, and their two children, 8-year-old Marcel and 5-year-old Josephine.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Meg," Chris proffers solemnly, extending a hand for her to clasp. In lieu of taking it, Meg hurls herself into her oldest younger brother's arms, suddenly crying profusely, clutching his lapel as tightly as her shaking hands will allow.

Chris starts to choke and Peter approaches Meg, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Now loosen your grip there, Meg," he advises in a gentle voice, "You don't want anyone else you care about to die, do you?"

His words trigger an even more forceful attack of sobs. Meg releases Chris and instead flings herself upon Camille, nearly succeeding in knocking the slightly-emaciated-looking woman over.

She pats Meg clumsily on the back. "Uh…Eet is going to be okay. A terrible loss, zere is no doubt, but we are all 'ere for you, mais oui?" She glances at her husband for assent. He instantly leaves off rubbing his neck and nods emphatically, wheezing, "Oui. I mean- yeah, sis."

Lois's attention is concentrated fully on her grandchildren. They are the only ones she has, and as Stewie overheard her communicating to Brian as they did up the luncheon dishes earlier that day, likely the only ones she'll _ever_ have.

"I mean, Meg's lost her husband now, and what are the chances of her managing to snag another one before her eggs dry up? And Stewie- he's not exactly going to be producing any heirs, is he? Sure, he could always adopt, but I don't see that happening. Maybe because he's still so young, but then Stewie has never liked kids."

At that very moment, she is producing from her black mock-croc clutch lollypops for Marcel and Josephine, or 'Mark and Josie' as she calls them ("I don't understand _why _they insisted on giving the poor dears such namby-pamby Frenchy names!")

Brian is staring at her as if wondering at the fact that Lois is now one of those old women who carry around suck-on candies in their purses. It's tragedy, comedy, and lunacy commingled, and not just because time has gone by so fast, but also because Brian is so much younger than he should be. Stewie observes him tightly squeeze his eyes shut for several moments and lean against the brick façade of the funeral parlor. He opens them with an ironic kind of chuckle and spots Stewie hovering directly in front of him.

Stewie immediately glares at him, and with an imperious tilt of the chin, flounces out of his line of vision.

He knows that his tentative plan, formulated minutes after Brian walked through the door yesterday, to ignore the insufferable, erstwhile animal for the extent of his stay has already been an unmitigated failure. Why, that vow was broken the moment they sat down to dinner the previous evening, wasn't it? When Stewie responded to Brian's crack about Quagmire…he hadn't been able to help it. For that brief moment, it was as though they'd flashed back to Stewie's childhood, and the young man had chimed in just as he would've done in the days when he and Brian united in pointing out the idiocy that surrounded them.

It will not do. He'll just have to settle for making the mongrel's life miserable.

Inside, Stewie seeks out the refreshment table. A fat, middle-aged man with dark greasy hair and squinty, rat eyes loiters near it. He gives Stewie a nod of acknowledgement, which he reluctantly returns.

They're serving cookies and punch at this wake, and that's all. The overhead speakers emit the sounds of a cacophonous group singing a school-choir version of Diddy's "I'll Be Missing You". The air is permeated by a mixture of something like the smell of meatloaf and cat odor. There is a very poor turnout for poor Wendy, and Stewie vaguely hopes there will be more people tomorrow at the funeral, because this is really too pathetic a farewell for anybody.

The chubby grease ball shuffles close to Stewie, who recoils. This man, actually, smells like cats. Is it possible- did he possibly make the room smell this way? Or is it just the aroma is so powerful, if you stand long enough in it, anybody would inevitably absorb it?

"I made those cookies," he says.

Stewie was seconds from taking a bite of the lemon crème-looking pastry. He promptly puts it down and scurries away.

Everybody is sitting down now, in any case, and Stewie claims a chair on the aisle, next to his father. On Peter's other side is Lois, and on her left is Brian. The Chris Griffins get settled in the row behind them. Meg enters the room and, curiously, makes a beeline straight for the freak with the cookies. He gives her a lingering hug.

A rabbi gets up in front of the audience of about twenty and starts to say a few words about Wendell. Midway through his tribute, Stewie is heading off into dreamland when Marcel Griffin commences kicking at the back of his seat.

Stewie throws the little monster a scathing look over his shoulder, but this only aggravates the situation. Mark speeds up his kicking and kicks harder. Stewie turns around and roughly grasps the infernal brat's feet.

"Cease that at once, maddening urchin!" he hisses. Camille slaps Stewie's hand away and starts cursing at him in French.

Mort Goldman is speaking and Meg is next. She is still crying uncontrollably in the arms of the Slimy Cat Man. Stewie hears sniffling coming from his left and, glancing past Peter, he is shocked to see that Lois is now also weeping. Her husband has an arm around her shoulders; Brian has his hand on her knee.

Good Lord, he can't still have a thing for her? Her hair is almost completely gray and her thighs have gotten huuuge.

Vexed, Stewie grinds his teeth together and worries if he doesn't get out of here soon, he might wind up smelling weird.

_To Be Continued…_

**So nothing really happened in this chapter, but I've had a helluva week. Having writer's block on top of it all made it that much worse, but as they say: "If the muse doesn't show up for work, start without her". I cranked this out really fast last night and I'm fairly insecure about it, so please review. **


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.

**Brian stands on the front porch of the yellow house on Spooner Street and contemplates how atypically warm the weather is, the start of spring still being a week off. He settles himself on the steps, can of Paul Tuckett in one hand, a novel in the other. In the driveway, Peter is making some half-assed attempt at washing the car, which basically involves him lackadaisically holding the hose, directing the stream of water at the exact same spot constantly, and downing his own beer. A cooler containing perhaps a dozen more stands sentry close by.**

**Lois emerges from the garage in full workout attire, holding a pair of hand weights. **

"**Alright, boys, I'm gonna take a quick power walk," she announces blithely, depositing a kiss on her husband's cheek and giving Brian a wave as she sets off. **

**Apparently, Lois feels she's gotten a little out of shape lately, and exercise is a new hobby she's trying to cultivate. Plus, Brian figures she's probably more than a little bored, especially since her company went belly under. **

**Stewie sallied forth to college at fifteen. And with Meg and Chris having long since flown the nest, housewife and stay-at-home mom Lois discovered that she had quite literally nothing left to do anymore. That is, aside for clean-up after Peter's numerous and bizarre shenanigans, but come on, how used to them was she by now? She could multi-task better than that- she needed something to fill her time, give her a sense of accomplishment!**

**It was then that she started posting video of herself giving piano lessons online. They were a huge hit! It so happened that she had a knack for teaching in this manner, and from there came the deal to produce a series of instructional DVD's that became bestsellers.**

**And so for a few years, Lois had a thriving business, which explained her need for an office. The public interest had unfortunately eventually waned, though, and thus the office was likewise abandoned. **

**Voila, Brian's makeshift bedroom.**

**It is the day following Wendy Goldman's funeral. Meg (somewhat unusually, in Brian's opinion, considering the extent of her grief) has already returned to work, leaving early that morning to open the shoe that she and her late husband ran in downtown Quahog. **

**As for Chris and his brood, they're even now on route back to Rochester, NY.**

**Brian drinks his beer and absorbs himself in his umpteenth rereading of Hemingway's **_**A Farewell to Arms. **_**At some point unspecified, Peter passes out on the lawn. The hose lies next to him, continuing to dribble out water, muddying the ground. Brian sighs, puts down his book and goes to shut off the valve.**

**Making his way around the side of the house, his daze darts into the backyard, where Stewie can just barely be seen- coming in and out of view over the fence- jumping on a trampoline.**

**Unreasonably, Brian finds this hysterical, and he forgets that the youngest Griffin child is upset with him for who the fuck knows why, opens the gate, and enters the backyard.**

"**Are you regressing?" he jeers as soon as Stewie can hear him.**

**The man-child's eyes shoot daggers at him as he slowly halts his bouncing.**

"**I'll have you know this is fantastic exercise," he lets Brian know in a supercilious tone of voice.**

"**You, too?" Brian asks. "Your mother…"**

**Stewie interjects, "She's needs it."**

**Brian produces a bark of a laugh and shakes his head. "You look quite…trim, though. I can't believe you guys still have this thing."**

**Stewie is somehow able to inject a muttered, "Mm," with a fair amount of sarcasm, and to lift his eyebrows in a method that brands Brian uninteresting.**

"**I guess what I mean to say," Brian goes on, "is that I'm stunned Peter didn't break it jumping on it a long time ago."**

"**No one said it hasn't been repaired **_**innumerable**_** times," Stewie remarks, facing in the opposite direction of Brian, resumes springing up and down.**

**How long has it been since Brian's had a proper conversation with the kid? He can't recall that their friendship ever came to a natural end. They used to try to email, but one of them (he doesn't remember which) stopped replying. For his part, Brian still thought about Stewie on occasion. Hoped he wasn't instigating too much chaos. Hoped he was okay and…happy…and everything.**

**They'd just sort of drifted apart- and that's evidently what they were still doing in life. Drifting. Brian does odd jobs as he aimlessly travels the U.S. And Stewie, too…he graduated four years ago and has yet to do anything worthwhile. **

"**Hey Stewie, what was your major?" He suddenly realizes that he has no idea and is a little ashamed. Certainly Stewie'd mentioned it before?**

**There's a long pause. Brian doesn't know if Stewie didn't hear the question or is simply ignoring him. Maybe it's too personal a question. **_**Maybe a 'scuzzy cur' like me isn't entitled to know, or some such shit**_**, Brian thinks with an internal snort. He is about to repeat himself when at last Stewie climbs off of the trampoline.**

"**Why?" he retorts, not looking at Brian.**

**Brian rolls his eyes. "Just curious."**

**Stewie approaches him, his face totally inscrutable. "Double major. Molecular biology and theater." he says flatly. **

**A small, involuntary grin tugs at the corner of Brian's mouth. "Wow. So…"**

"**Spare me your homophobic jibes, dog," Stewie interjects, his voice dripping acid. They are standing there in the backyard, approximately two feet apart and Stewie cuts a surprisingly intimidating figure in dirty blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Truly, fury in those massive eyes would be less unnerving than the vacuity they hold now. **

"**I wasn't about to say anything like that!" Brian cries, affronted. "Stewie, you know I'm not homophobic. For Christ's sake, remember my cousin Jasper? No…I was just going to make an observation about your interests being rather…diverse."**

**For the tiniest sliver of a second, Stewie appears duly chastised. Then the haughty demeanor comes back.**

"**Yes, I suppose they are. Well, I'm a complex character," he states with a shrug and a toss of his messy-haired head. "I also happen to be pretty parched at the moment. I'm going to get a soda." He brushes past Brian and strides across the yard toward the back door.**

**Brian tails him into the kitchen and parks it at the table while Stewie retrieves his soda from the fridge and leans against the counter, glowering.**

"**So, uh, listen," Brian begins, not even entirely sure why he's trying, "While I'm here, do you wanna go grab lunch or something? Or maybe head on over to the Clam, get you a real drink." He indicates the as-yet unopened soft drink in Stewie's hand.**

"**Brian," says Stewie in an utterly humorless tone, "What are you doing?"**

"**What are **_**you **_**doing?" Brian exclaims, turning the question back on him, "I mean, haven't you matured at **_**all**_** during the last five years? I know you were a unbearably pompous little pain in the ass when you were a kid, but that doesn't mean you have to be that way for the rest of your life!"**

**Stewie **_**grimaces**_**, but then covers it with a snarl so feral that Brian didn't think he himself could have managed it back when he was a dog.**

"**I couldn't stomach you either, rancid canine," he replies, deadly calm, "And I most definitely do **_**not**_** wish you to take me out for a 'real' drink, so I can become some pathetic alcoholic like you."**

"**Fine!" Brian shouts, "I'll take your advice then and leave you the hell alone!"**

"**Pfft!" huffs Stewie apathetically, pulling the tab on his soda can. It opens with a quiet hiss, and without a second look back, Stewie exits the kitchen. **

_**What the**_** hell **_**is his problem?**_

_**________________________________________________________________________**_

**Later that night, Brian finds Lois alone in the living room drinking coffee and watching a T.V. movie.**

**He sits down next to her on the couch. There's something he needs to talk her about. He's very anxious to not hurt her feelings, but it has to be said.**

"**Uh, so Lois…" He hesitates, clears his throat. "Thanks for putting me up the last few days, but I've imposed on you long enough. Frank the Third…" Inside he cringes at the name, not really one for a swingin' hep cat. But what're you gonna do? Frank, Jr. awhile ago discovered that he was growing too advanced in age to keep up his performance schedule, and so had passed the torch on to his son. **

"**Anyway," Brian persists, "He's doing a show in Jersey City on Friday and he's asked me to join him, so I'm thinking of rolling over that way."**

**Lois stares at him, the light from the T.V. screen flickering upon her features. She looks surprised and…hurt, yes. Damn it. Disappointment exudes from those gentle eyes. Marked even as they are now by crows feet, their loveliness hasn't dimmed in the slightest. In Brian's mind, she is ever hopelessly beautiful.**

"**Wh- B-but, Brian…" she stammers, " Why? I don't understand. You only just got here!"**

"**Yeah, I know," Brian readily assents, "I don't really know how to explain this to you, but… since I arrived, I've just been feeling kind of out of place, I guess."**

**Lois crinkles her brow and sips at her coffee. "Well, of course we had the funeral to deal with, but I've **_**tried**_** to be welcoming…Hey! The carnival's in town! Whadaya say we all go tomorrow? It'll be a great re-bonding experience!" She ends excitedly.**

"**Oh-er…I don't know, Lois," Brian fumbles for an excuse, but it's either going to wind up sounding insulting ("I honestly just don't want to spend another night under this roof, alright?") or wimpy ("It's just far too stressful for poor, tortured me to try and figure out my role in what used to be my family!").**

**Lois sits down her coffee cup and stretches out an arm across the back of the sofa. "Come on, Brian. What are your other options, **_**really**_**? I mean…where to next? This migratory existent actually suits you? I would think you'd be tired of it by now."**

"**I fear monotony like a disease," he says gravely. "I tried settling down once; that didn't turn out so well. That sort of life is never going to be anything more than a lie for me. How people like you and Peter make it work…it-it **_**baffles**_** me Lois."**

"**I'm not saying that you oughtta remarry," she replies slowly after a moment, "But…carve out a life for yourself. Put down some roots. Maybe somewhere close by your family…." she hints with a weak smile.**

**Brian gives a rueful laugh and scratches at the back of his head uncomfortably. "Is that what you all are to me? 'Family'?" He regrets his sulky words, though, as soon as he sees Lois's hurt expression, and knows they were not interpreted the right way.**

"**Oh, no, no, no," he hurriedly elaborates, "Lois, that's not what I meant. Obviously, I still, you know…well, I still care very deeply about you guys. But, look- lots of people have a family dog. How many people have a family used-to-be-a-dog-but-was-transformed-into-a-human-via-their-ten-year-old-son's-invention-and-is-now-just-some-creepy-guy-who-hangs-around?"**

**Lois chuckles, but her eyes are sad. "Oh, Brian," she sighs, getting to her feet. She pats him on the head, and in spite of himself, he laughs too.**

"**Goodnight," she says, "I promise you, every one of us still looks on you as a member of the family."**

**As she departs the living room, Brian can't help, as he mulls that one over, but to put to her a particular question.**

"**What about Stewie? He doesn't seem to be too happy that I'm here."**

**Lois stops in her tracks, turns around, and smirks at him. "Well, then how much more proof do you need? You see, he looks on you **_**exactly**_** like family."**

_**To Be Continued…**_

**Okay, some important information came out in this chapter, huh? Brian's been married?! And it's Stewie's doing that he's now a person?! What?!?! More on these revelations in the chapters to come! Please remember to review!**

**BTW, you will notice that I present a very uninspired view of the future here. I'm sure that 20 years from now, another format will have replaced DVD's, and I don't know that they'll still be making the Prius. Oh well. :P **


	6. Chapter 6

Yes, I'm posting two chapters on the same day. It really wasn't my intention; chapter four was meant to go up Friday, but my stupid internet connection was down all weekend, so…double your reading (hopefully) pleasure. Submitted for your approval…

Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.

**After a day which had dawned prematurely sunny and glorious, Stewie awoke to bleak, showery skies. Straining his ears, he lay in bed endeavoring to determine if any of the house's other inhabitants were yet up and moving around. Hearing nothing, and having a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand that read 10:04, he judged that unusual. Lois usually rose around 8 a.m. Had everyone else overslept, too or had they already breakfasted and left the house, then? Stewie supposed he'd finally gotten to sleep around 1:30 in the morning, so he'd had eight and a half hours sleep- highly irregular. Oddly enough, it left him rather lethargic instead of energized, like a good rest should have done.**

**A quick stop in the restroom to perform the morning necessities preceded his journey to the kitchen to investigate the situation. Lingering just outside the room, he peered around the doorjamb to find Brian situated at the table, perusing the newspaper.**

**Stewie considers him for a moment, this man who still affected him so much. Brian as a human was not actually particularly good-looking, at least not conventionally. His features were just a mite too broad, and his white-blond hair in its crew cut did **_**nothing**_** for his face shape. Nor was his physique anything to write home about- average height, average build. **

**Although if memory served (and it did), Stewie recollected glimpsing Brian as he emerged from the machine all those eleven years ago, completely naked in his new form…and there **_**was **_**something about his body to be deemed more impressive than most. By a good couple of inches.**

**The thought colors Stewie's cheeks, and the young man unconsciously gives a nervous cough.**

"**Stewie?" **

"**Yes?" His head is still poking into the kitchen, and soon the rest of him joins it as he fights back his blush and tries to act dignified. "How did you know it was me?"**

"**You and I are the only ones here. Peter got a phone call from Joe a little bit ago; something to do with a monkey getting arrested. I don't know- he rushed right off. Meg's at work, and Lois went to the store for bread. She should be back shortly." All this information delivered in a perfectly monotone voice, without Brian looking up from his paper. **

**Stewie pulls a frying pan out of a cabinet with the intent of fixing himself an omelet. He made **_**superb**_** omelets. **_**And let's see what the refrigerator holds…ah, excellent! Onions and green pepper and haloumi. This is going to be delicious.**_

**Naturally, he doesn't prepare one for Brian. Let him sit there and be content with that weak piss Lois calls coffee.**

**Speaking of whom…**

**Lois's key can be heard in the door, and a moment later she's traversing the threshold of the kitchen, shaking out her umbrella in front her. A few tiny droplets land on Stewie, positioned at the stove, who utters exaggerated little sounds of annoyance. **

"**Whew, it's really staring to come down out there," she states, "I wonder if the carnival is even still going on."**

"**Carnival?" asks Stewie, frowning as he folds cooked egg in half over its fillings.**

"**Oh, the carnival at the park. I suggested to Brian last night that we all go today but- oh, dear, I bet it's been canceled." "Yet if is, I'm not going in the rain!" cries Stewie, appalled.**

"**Don't get your panties in a twist, you wouldn't melt or anything," Brian snarks.**

"**Play nice, now" Lois admonishes concurrently with Stewie entreating the woman, "But we're **_**not **_**going to go, are we?"**

**She taps a finger against her chin while she deliberates. "Well, you know, honey, we could try it. The weatherman said it was supposed to rain off and on today, but it's not expected to storm. We might actually get a good couple hours of sunshine in. As soon as Peter gets back, shall we drive by and see if the carnival's up and running? Brian hasn't been able to join in a fun family activity in a long while. Don't you want him to have a good time during his visit?"**

**Stewie chooses not to dignify that with a response.**

**________________________________________________________________________**

"**Ooh, look, Peter," Lois coos, hanging on her husband's fleshy arm as they walk around the park grounds. "The Tunnel of Love. That's certainly a **_**pleasurable**_** ride, huh?" She giggles ridiculously and nuzzles his shoulder.**

**Stewie gags.**

"**Aw, Lois, I've got the rest of my life to feel you up on a plastic swan," Peter whines, gawking in a different direction. "Corndogs are a limited engagement."**

"**How's that?" his wife wants to know in an irritated voice. "We have corndogs at home and we don't have the plastic swan!" She's clearly in a randy mood, for she tugs on his arm and hauls him away with more strength than she ought to possess. "Now come on. We're gonna ride the freakin' Tunnel of Love."**

**Stewie sighs heavily and looks to his side at Brian, who asks, "So they sell booze at this thing or what?"**

**It's misting very lightly but unremittingly. Stewie sticks out his tongue to catch the water upon it.**

**He feels Brian give him a dirty look. "Okay, yeah, another example of me being a pathetic drunk, but I really don't give a tiny rat's ass what you think. Can I buy alcohol here, yes or no?"**

**Stewie giggles, knowing full well how juvenile and loopy he sounds when he relies, "What about an enormous rat's ass?" There are raindrops on his eyelashes, so he blinks a few times before locking eyes with Brian.**

**He's startled by the other man's expression. It's almost affectionate.**

"**I guess you don't hate the rain as much as you claim to."**

"**Contrary to popular belief, I don't actually hate that many things," Stewie responds smoothly. "I never said I hated…the rain. And no, they don't sell booze here."**

"**Damn it," Brian mutters. **

"**They have funnel cake," Stewie helpfully informs him.**

**Brian curses again and then after a beat concedes. "Fine, let's go get some funnel cake."**

**They eat their cake silently standing next to the booth and walk around in search of Peter and Lois. The rain has stopped completely. **

**Passing a balloon-popping game, for which the prizes are various-sized stuffed teddy bears, a smirking, Brian nudges him with his elbow. **

"**Hey, Stewie, you still got Rupert?"**

**Stewie's stomach twists painfully. It's a stupid thing to be so upset about, but every time he thinks what happened to his cherished toy…that disastrous sleepover, and right after Brian left, too, for Connecticut and Tanya…A representation of the positive of his childhood: gone, gone.**

"**Of course not!" Stewie snaps, "Don't be an imbecile."**

**Brian decides he wants to play the game. Much to Stewie's delight, he sucks at it. The younger man comments nastily on every failed throw of the dart, but Brian won't quit, even though it's obvious Stewie's getting to him. The pièce de résistance is when Stewie snatches up a dart and roughly jabs one of Brian's buttocks with it.**

**At which point, Brian **_**does**_** walk away from the booth.**

"_**What**_**," he yells, "Is your problem?! Unlike you, I don't enjoy having strange objects poking at me around there!"**

**Enraged, Stewie shouts, "You could've fooled me; **_**I**_** wouldn't have thrown those darts like such a fucking pansy!"**

"**Oh, **_**fuck**_** you!" Brian hurls back, turning on his heel and stomping off.**

**Stewie watches him go, rooted to the spot, half seething, half bemoaning. His cell phone vibrates against his hip in his jacket pocket.**

**It's Lois calling, sounding strained and exasperated. "Oh, Stu? I'm afraid your father's had a bit of an accident…" She sighs. "What else is new, right? Well, he was running around the funhouse, in the hall of mirrors and he- he crashed into a few and got cut up pretty bad. We're in the car right now, I'm taking him to the hospital. He'll probably need stitches and I should stay with him. It's not far…do you think you and Brian can walk home?"**

**Stewie exhales long and low, agrees, and hangs up immediately. He can't speak for Brian, but as for himself, yeah, he thinks he's capable of walking all of five miles back to the house. He has no intention of looking for the fleabag first, however, and letting him know what's going on.**

**He makes his way through the park gates and heads down the road home. Alone.**

_**To Be Continued…**_

**Thanks a bunch for the reviews! ****J Please keep 'em coming!**


	7. Chapter 7

**So I changed the rating of this story from 'M' to 'T' for a couple reasons:**

**1.) More people will probably read it if it's in the main section of the Family Guy fics. **

**2.) I don't really think that it was ever going to warrant a mature rating. There's a fair bit of swearing, but after reading some other 'T' rated fics, I honestly don't consider **_**this**_** to be any worse. And I never did plan on having a sex scene in the story. There will be a 'sexy scene' (well, actually more than one, but I'm thinking about one in particular), but a flat-out 'sex scene'? No.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

After his argument with Stewie, Brian trudges through the park, beyond the area where they are holding the carnival. He contemplates phoning Lois and giving her the excuse that he has a headache and needed to go back to the house. But…no. He can't let her down like that. She planned this day for his sake, after all, and it just wouldn't be right to bail.

He sits down on the grass, then remembers that it'd been raining not forty-five minutes ago and the grass is wet. And it's not the brightest idea for him to be sitting on grass in any case, because he is currently wearing khaki pants. He shoots to his feet.

"Damn it!" He cranes his head around in a vain effort to have a look at his ass and see if his trousers have been stained.

Just then, he sees somebody walking briskly by on the sidewalk outside the park fence, fifty feet in front of him, a tall, chestnut-haired male figure, his slender frame clothed in blue jeans and a dark pea coat.

"Stewie!" Brian calls out to the man.

Stewie stops and wavers for a moment or two, as though he were deciding whether or not he 'heard' His mind seemingly made up, he resumes walking.

Pinching the bridge of his nose to ward of a headache that is beginning in earnest, Brian has no choice but to jog after him, shouting as he does, "Hey! _Hey_! _Where_ are you going?"

Catching up, he takes hold of Stewie's arm. "You're just taking off then, huh? Did you let your mother know? Or did you just want to make everybody worry about where you'd gone to?"

Stewie wrenches free and scowls hard at Brian. "Unhand me at once! What's wrong with you? 'Did I tell my mummy'? I'm not a blasted baby anymore, Dog! And it's no bloody business of yours what I do!"

Brian takes a deep breath. "If your parents don't…"

"They do!" interjects Stewie, so loudly that he attracts looks from passersby. "They do! The Fat Man took some sort of moronic spill in the hall of mirrors and got sliced and diced…"

"Is he going to be okay?" asks Brian worriedly.

"Oh, yes," Stewie answers blithely, "Lois is confident the doctors are sufficiently competent to successfully reattach every one of his severed limbs…"

"He doesn't really have severed limbs, does he?" Brian is marginally panicked.

"No, only several horrific gashes. According to Mother. She reckons he'll need stitches. They're at the hospital right now."

Brian furrows his brow, seeking to puzzle this out. "So…Lois told you to just go ahead and walk home? I assume you were also _supposed_ to fill _me_ in, so I didn't wind up stuck at the goddamn carnival all day?!" He is shouting by the end of his speech.

Stewie smirks. "That's correct."

________________________________________________________________________

Halfway home, a downpour starts, so that when they finally reach the Griffin homestead, they are both pretty much drenched. Brian and Stewie toe off their shoes on the doormat in the living room. There're footsteps on the stairs; in the next instant Meg comes into view, her hair as wet as either Stewie's or Brian's, and naught but a towel wrapped around her.

"Urrrgh!" Stewie cringes and Brian examines his watch.

"You're home early- it's only 3:30."

"Yeah…I guess I am," Meg says slowly, pulling her towel more closely around her body. "Well, ya know, I'm the boss. I have people…employees I can leave in charge. I don't really have to be there all that often. Dean's there now. He's, uh…very capable. Very capable man." She clears her throat. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

While Brian explains, Stewie disappears upstairs. He returns toting a fluffy towel swung over each arm and tosses one Brian's way as he dries his own tresses with the other.

"Thanks," Brian says, somewhat surprised taken aback by his consideration.

________________________________________________________________________

Lois calls around dinnertime to say that she and Peter are dining out. Stewie, Brian, and Meg, pull large dishes of Shiva Week food out of the refrigerator.

"I thought that friends and family members came to visit and condole with you and brought the food," Brian observes.

Meg shrugs. "Wendy's branch of the Goldman family isn't that Orthodox. I decided I'd rather take any donations of food ahead of time. Holding a wake wasn't a traditional Jewish custom, either, but his mom's Protestant and she thought it was a good idea."

"None of this was made by the cat-meatloaf guy, was it?" Stewie asks suspiciously, peeling back the tin foil covering of a potato casserole and sniffing at it intently, crinkling his nose.

Brian nearly shoots his martini through his as he lets loose a baffled laugh. "Wha-what? Some guy makes meatloaf out of cats?!"

"No! I mean, now that I think of it, it's perfectly plausible that he _might_, but what I meant was he smelled like a combination of cat urine and overcooked meatloaf."

Brain blanches and demands in tandem with Meg, "Who?!"

"Oh, this fellow at the wake." Stewie pops a matzo ball experimentally into his mouth, finds it acceptable, and they must wait for him to finish chewing. "He was at the funeral, too. I didn't get close enough to smell him that time, thank God. But I digress. Yes…He was a tubby bloke, black hair and beady little eyes. You gave him a hug, Megan."

Brian slides his chair further away from Meg's.

"That's Dean!" she exclaims, flushed and sounding defensive. "He works at Sole Concern. You shouldn't make fun of him, he's a super guy. He's always been really great to me- and to Wendy." She finishes sadly. "They were best friends. They were in a band together."

Sensing that she might be on the verge of tears, Brian suggests compassionately, "Come on, Meg, let's go eat in front of the T.V. I think they have one of them chic-flicks on tonight- _Hey Girls, Finding Yourself is as Simple as Finding Yourself a Man_."

He was right, Meg _is _about to cry. She sniffles and shakes her head and begs off. "Do you _really_ think I'm in the mood to watch a romance?"

Brian sighs and Stewie enthusiastically announces, "_I _am! That sounds great!" He bustles out into the living room with his plate. Brian grudgingly gathers up his own and joins him.

________________________________________________________________________

Brian falls asleep during the movie and awakens when the end credits are rolling. His head is on Stewie's shoulder. Curious that the young man didn't shove him off. Even curiouser is the fact that Brian's hand is resting in Stewie's lap, and Stewie is absently stroking his wrist as he stares mesmerized at the T.V. screen. In this moment, his countenance looks well-nigh…_serene._

The _new_ unpleasant Stewie is far different from the old unpleasant Stewie. As a child, he was by turns a little terror and a flamboyant song boy. But he was always 'out there', full of life and verve. Now, though…he seems to have shut himself in to a degree.

When they sparred in the past, it was because of an underlying sense of faithful discord, and because that was their dynamic together. Since Brian's restoration to the family circle, however, what Stewie's shown him is a genuine, frosty bête-noir.

. He obviously hasn't realized that Brian is awake yet, so Brian yawns exaggeratedly, and mutters a little more sleepily than he feels, "Your folks back yet?"

Stewie starts and drops Brian's hand as if it is made of lead. "Oh…" He's slightly frazzled. "Yes…awhile ago. They said a perfunctory hello to me and then rushed off to bed." He pulls a disgusted face.

Brian chuckles. Sitting up straight on the sofa, he teases, "Maybe they thought they were doing _us_ a favor after they saw us cuddled up together."

He notes bemusedly that Stewie stiffens and his cheeks pinken.

"How's that marriage of your's going, Brain?" he bates the other man maliciously, "Hmm? How's your wife? That woman you stood on the altar with and promised to love for all eternity? Hmm? 'Til death do you part? How's that holy union working out for you, then? You guys thinking about kids? You got the color scheme all picked out for the nursery? Because you're going to be together forever, right? Wasn't that the point? Grow old together, get matching walkers and soak your dentures next to hers on the bathroom sink? Hmmm?"

Brian doesn't answer, as he knows he's not supposed to. Anyway, if Stewie hopes to provoke a cold fury in Brian, he will be sorely disappointed. All Brian felt, all he could feel about anything as regards Tanya, was a dull ache. Not in his heart; more like in his gut. Like a mild indigestion. Here was another of his failures.

"How," he says composedly, "did you live in Boston after college if you never worked a day in your life?"

Stewie snickers wryly. "Would you believe me if I said I was some wealthy older gentleman's catamite?"

"Yes," says Brian instantly.

Stewie frowns, switches the television off, and gets up to leave.

"Stewie." A strident intonation of the younger man's name that clearly says, 'stop'.

"What?" Stewie's voice is wary. "What is it?"

Brian doesn't respond right away, not really knowing how to begin. At some point this had truly become important to him, reestablishing a good relationship with Stewie. Well, not that what they had before was always 'good'- it was frequently quite the contrary, but…_God_, they used to _like_ each other, didn't they? As embarrassing as it is to admit that for fourteen years the most significant bond in his life was that which he had with a _child_…it's true, isn't it?

He has never been able to replicate that bond with anybody else. And perhaps he is out of his mind for not automatically thinking, _thank God_ _for that_, but the fact remains that his very own perspective seems less vivid if he can't share with someone who as often derides it as supports it, someone he can sing and dance with…

And understanding breaks upon him suddenly that he can't just fix this and leave. Stewie…he needs to keep him, somehow.

Well, Brian has his work cut out for him if he wants Stewie's friendship again. Whilst he'd been silent, working out his own feelings and motivations, and the right words to say to draw the young man temporarily out of his animosity and into an honest conversation, said young man has obviously turned impatient.

"What do you _want_?" he demands.

"You to stop acting like a melodramatic little bitch of a primadonna!" Brian snaps before he stop himself.

_Okay, so probably not a good way to promote peaceful relations._

"How _dare _you!" Stewie cries, white with rage.

Brian stands up, too, sidling toward him. He makes a flippant gesture with his hand. "I don't," he corrects Stewie tiredly, "Never mind. I don't have the energy to deal with you anymore, I guess."

"Your bark always _was_ worse than your bite," jeers Stewie.

Pushed to the limit, Brian suddenly leans forward and bites Stewie on the shoulder.

Stewie whimpers and clutches at Brian and it's only then that Brian comprehends that his action- which he meant to be cruel, if he meant anything at all by it, he was frustrated, is all- could also be construed as sexual. His face burns scarlet and he finds he can't look up from the place where he's left a blotch of saliva just above the arm of Stewie's T-shirt.

"I can….never repay you for what you did for me."

"No," Stewie concurs softly, "You can't."

_To Be Continued…_

Review this Story/Chapter

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


	8. Chapter 8

**By the time you read this, I'll have gone back and edited the previous chapters for spelling/grammatical errors. I apologize for them, in addition to any that may crop up in this chapter. I have no beta, and my self-editing skills aren't always the best.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

"Stewie! Lunch!" Brian is leaning out the rolled-down window of his car parked in the drive. He honks his horn. Stewie pulls the front door shut and checks that he locked it as he steps onto the little porch, and fumbles to button his coat. He looks up at Brian, gives him a cheeky grin, and flips him off. Then has to physically strive to rein himself in so that he doesn't skip over to the idling vehicle.

The fact is that today is Saturday. Which, needless to say, meant that yesterday was Friday. And Brian is still staying on Spooner Street. He hasn't gone to Jersey City to sing with Frank the Third. Stewie hadn't been aware Brian was even contemplating doing so, but Lois had pointed it out the previous evening.

" Well, Brian, I can't help but notice that at this very moment you could be on stage in Jersey but you're here instead. Have you made alternate plans, then?" She'd queried, her eyes twinkling.

"I don't make plans anymore, Lois," said Brian casually from his perch of the armchair adjacent to the sofa where Mrs. Griffin sat with her son. He flipped a page of his newspaper. "I just roll with the punches.

"Ah, so you've evidently degenerated into a complete unadulterated hippie," Stewie observed disdainfully.

Brian's lips quirked upward. "I would think that someone with your, erm…." he cleared his throat., "_inclinations_ would find more appealing a liberalized ideology." came his rejoinder.

And Stewie laughed a bit and suggested faux-seriously, "Maybe I'm a Log Cabin Republican."

Brian shuddered. "_Any _Republican is no friend of mine."

And they are, oddly enough, in the process of instituting a tentative, renewed comraderie. At least, that's what it feels like to Stewie. Since Brian had tried to take a bite out of his shoulder a few days ago (from which, frankly, Stewie got more of an erotic charge than he preferred to admit to himself), circumstances have been unexpectedly peaceable. It's a return to the bygone era of trading meaningless barbs and the random meaningful discussion.

Just this morning, he'd caught Brian browsing the local want ads, causing Stewie to feel inexplicably giddy.

Not that he'd ever allow it to show, of course. Stewart Gilligan Griffin is a mass of many things, and not occupying the least amount of space in his pysche is his care-honed ability to hide his true emotions.

He slides into the passenger seat and reminds himself that he is _not_ on a date. There is no excuse for this fluttering in his heart unless it's originating from some medical condition.

Vivaldi flows forth from the stereo as they wend their route through the streets of Quahog. When they reach downtown Main St., they pull up alongside the curb of an antiquated and low-key café, painted an ugly salmon pink. Stewie requested this hole-in-the-wall place, which used to be an insurance office. He'd eaten here the first night he moved back home, and had fallen in love at first sight, regarding it as delightfully kitche.

Brian cuts the engine and throws Stewie a skeptical look.

"Oh, you'll _adore_ it!" the younger man enthuses, unbuckling his seat belt. Brian merely sighs.

Inside at a corner booth in the back, Brian continues to scrutinize the décor. Nearby there is a potted cactus spray-painted electric blue and ornamented with bows- Brian is clearly unsure whether he finds it amusing or horrifying. Stewie glances up from his menu and taps Brian's irritably with his fork.

"Pick something to eat."

"Uh…I'll have whatever you are."

Which is a chicken salad croissant sandwich, a nice spinach salad with almonds and heirloom tomatoes, and iced tea. Stewie starts the conversation after the food arrives with, "So- Dog. Digging around for a job in Quahog?"

"Mmhm," Brian confirms around a mouthful of sandwich. He puts up a finger to symbolize 'wait a moment'. Once finished chewing, he nods but adds, "Thus far I haven't unearthed any bones."

"What sort of experience do you have?" asks Stewie, avidly interested. "After all, back before you had opposable thumbs, you never worked a day in your miserable life. But in recent years, doubtlessly…"

"Odd jobs, this and that," Brian interrupts him, frowning, "freelance work when I can find it- writing, you know? Some office temping…"

Stewie hums carelessly. "Yes, I didn't suppose the residuals _Quotient_ _of Bravery _brought in were substantial enough to promote long-term support." He spears a tomato with his fork.

During the early days of his marriage, Brian had been so inspired as to churn out another novel. Unlike _Faster Than the Speed of Love, _his new effort, was moderately successful, even prompting him to hire a book agent.

Brian narrows his eyes at Stewie. "What about you, Stewie? You're an adult now. What will you make of your life?"

_God, how he abhors this question! What the bloody deuce _should _he be doing with it? All he can do is too much or too little. _Stewie grumbles, "That's undetermined at present," and takes a fastidious sip of his iced tea.

"Why _is _it?" Brian presses, his voice maddeningly silky.

"Jesus!" Stewie grouses, "_You're_ telling me to pick a path? _You?_" He points a finger dramatically at Brian, then at his own chest. "Pot, kettle."

His companion laughs a bit, holds up both hands, palms out in surrender. "Point. Now let's don't argue."

"But you love arguing with me," Stewie protests playfully, hoping that it doesn't come off too much like flirting, and for about the next five minutes, they finish their meal in silence. Then, without really grasping why it's important for him to get on the record, he impulsively discloses in a quiet voice, "I won a large cash prize in a science contest my senior year of University. I lived frugally, and with two female roommates when I was in Boston. No well-heeled old man supported me."

"It relieves me greatly to hear it."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, I'm…" Brian squirms slightly uncomfortably in his seat and clears his throat. "I'm being serious, in a way. You- God, Stewie you have so many opportunities, and I would hate to see you selling yourself short."

"Or just plain selling myself?" supplies Stewie.

"Or that," Brian agrees, and calls for the check.

_______________________________________________________________________

Back in the car, Stewie is loathe for their outing to end.

"Thanks for lunch," Brian mumbles.

Stewie raises his eyebrows. "You paid, dimwit," he jogs Brian's memory.

"Yeah," Brian chortles sheepishly. "I guess what I meant was, thanks for behaving like a reasonable person. For agreeing to sit down to a civil lunch with me."

"Oh ha ha ha," Stewie laughs sardonically, folding his arms in a petulant manner.

Brian smiles at him. He shows dimples when he smiles. It's charming enough to weaken Stewie's knees, even though he's sitting down.

He's not still in love with the man. He's _not. _It's leftover love bubbling to the surface, and it'll dissipate soon.

"Do we have to go straight home?" Stewie asks.

"Er- what would _you _have us do?"

Stewie plays with a stray thread on his jeans. "We could go to the mall and I can tell you what I want for my birthday next month." _Fool, he is a fool._

"Self-absorbed much?" Brian quips. Stewie looks up at him and he listlessly scratches the back of his scalp with one hand, the other holding the keys, hovering above the ignition.

Brian finally gives his verdict: "Oh, what the hell, it's not like I have anything better to do."

________________________________________________________________________

They hit a joke store and goof around with silly novelty glasses and examine T-shirts with smart-ass sayings on them, laughing at the clever ones and groaning at the lame ones. Defying Brian's snide comments, Stewie makes a run for the hair salon that carries a particular mouse he favors. Wandering through a JC Penney, he selects various screen-print T's for himself and advises Brian purchase a nice interview suit.

Brian is strangely reluctant to do so. "I'll get around to it before it needs to be done," he assures Stewie unconcernedly, then proceeds to look the young man over, from head to foot. "You could look a trifle more dapper yourself. Why do you dress like you play in some low-rent garage band?"

"What the devil do you mean?" Stewie demands, miffed. "My attire is totally suitable for my age."

"Since when have you cared what's suitable?" asks Brian, holding up a navy blue blazer in front of Stewie. "Here, now, this is much better if you want people to start taking you seriously…"

"I will not allow you to stand here and dress me like I'm some damn Barbie doll!" Stewie proclaims, cutting him off. They leave the store soon afterward.

Brian insists they give Lois a buzz.

"As far as she knows, we were just having lunch."

He has the volume on his phone up so high that Stewie can easily hear his mother on the other end:

"It's natural that you'd wanna hang out with each other," states Lois, sounding pleased. "After all, I remember you two always being together. And you're close in age now."

Stewie hoots as Brian hangs up the phone. Normally, whether someone is close to your age or not, they remain that way for the rest of their lives. Not the case with Brian, though. He was twenty-eight years old twelve years ago, two years ago he turned thirty, and he won't be thirty-one for three more years. He'd gotten to choose his own age as a human when he entered Stewie's machine. It was a relief Stewie'd been able to build it that way, because if he came out of it as old in human years as he was in dog years at that time, he'd have emerged as an 85-year-old. But one of the anomalies of the machine was that, instead of being a dog and aging 5-years-to-every-1, Brian as a dog-come-human will age 1-to-every-5.

Next they go to the bookstore, where Stewie indicates his desired birthday gift, a leather-bound, gilt edged-paged collection of poetry anthologies.

Brian checks the price tag and whistles. "Jesus, Stewie, two hundred bucks?!"

Stewie says nothing.

"You read poetry? Is it even good poetry?"

"'Many are poets but without the name. For what is poesy but to create from overflowing good or ill; and aim, at an external life beyond our fate and be the new Prometheus of man?'" replies Stewie.

"Hmm?" Brian isn't fully paying attention; he is studying the cover of a book entitled _A History of Jazz. _"Who said that?"

"Byron."

"Yeah?" says Brian, tucking the book under his arm and meeting Stewie's gaze. "What? I asked who said it."

_God, he's missed him! Out-dated tastes and all. Not that that adds up to love._

"No," sighs Stewie, rolling his eyes, "_Byr-on. _Lord George Gordon Noel Byron."

"Lord Byron was a disgusting, immoral libertine. He was a hedonist with too-high opinions of himself that was contemptuous toward women and treated his own wife abominably. He had an incestuous relationship with his half-sister and his whole life was one big debauchery."

Stewie is aware of this, of course. After first becoming enamored with Byron, he had been revolted to later learn these details while doing research for a class project. However, he is able to separate the art from the man.

He yawns ostentatiously. "Professor, your lecture hall is asleep.

________________________________________________________________________

The day grows so long in the tooth that they find themselves sharing another meal together at a restaurant in the mall. They order seafood- Stewie a piece of grilled lemon pepper fish, Brian a platter of fried shrimp.

Their waitress is a cute girl in her mid-twenties with a blond ponytail and a lithe, nubile body. She takes a shine to Brian. She keeps smiling flirtatiously at him and every time she glides past their booth deliberately swishes her ass. Brian is receptive; he leers back like an imbecilic horndog.

Eventually, once he and Stewie have eaten their fill, she saunters over to retrieve their discarded plates and utensils.

" I just have to get another customer's drink order and then I'll be right back with your check," she informs them (or to be more precise, she informs Brian. Working in a restaurant must make her hungry; she is devouring him with her eyes) in an affectedly breathy voice.

Stewie's blood is boiling. He just _knows_ that Brian'll ask her out when she returns.

His treating Brian like excrement was as much for his own protection as it was to punish Brian.

This is dangerous. This promises to hurt. For somebody who, an hour ago, wasn't even conscious of still loving Brian, Stewie now feels it wholeheartedly, and just as naturally as though it's been recognized the entire time. Perhaps, on some level it has…

He doesn't intend to do anything about it. Besides still harboring a well-established sense of resentment toward Brian for abandoning him…._Christ, _didn't Brian _know _how damaging that had been for him?! After all they'd gone through together for so many years, all their misadventures and escapades? Stewie is not unaware it was probably Brian's influence that had kept him from turning into a certifiable psychopath. Brian was the first person (well, not exactly _person_ back then) Stewie ever loved, and he's never loved anyone else so strongly since.

Yes, yes, besides all that…Brian is very, very straight. The chances of Stewie getting into a romantic relationship with him are slim to nil. If it isn't this girl (Stewie stares mournfully at the back of the waitress as she fills drink glasses at the soda fountain), it will be another. But that doesn't mean that Stewie wants to bear winess to the night Brian met the woman he'll wind up falling in love with.

Acting fast, Stewie comes around to Brian's side of the table, and removes the napkin Brian'd placed over his plate of breaded shrimp.

"On second thought, let me have a couple of those," he says, snatching up a shrimp and popping it into his mouth as he darts a furtive glance behind him. That wretched waitress is indeed heading their way. She advances on their booth with a smile. Stewie waits until she is looking directly at them before conspicuously settling his hand on Brian's thigh. And squeezing.

He beams up at the woman. "Ah, have you our check for us?" He holds out his hand to receive it. Her smile wavers for a second, awkward and confused, before she surrenders the check and scuttles off.

He aims a triumph expression at Brian, who is gaping dumbtruck in return. Then something seems to flash behind his eyes, a glint of realization of Stewie's motives, in addition to an accompanying sadness. Stewie feels a thrill of trepidation.

But Brian only laughs unsteadily and gives Stewie a none-too-gentle shove out of the booth.

"What are you up to?" he teases.

Stewie shakes his head. "Nothing," he replies curtly. In his head, a far more sorrowful voice echoes, _nothing at all._

_To be continued…_

**Whew, long chapter! (And my favorite to-date)**

**Thanks, you guys, for the reviews, alerts, favs!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here we go, another chapter, where some serious shit hits the fan! **

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

Before Brian knows it, he's been living in Quahog for a month.

He's secured a job. He's a part-time copy editor for the _Quahog Informer._ He possesses a remote dislike for it; he imagines most people feel that way about their jobs.

The salary is peanuts, but still he offers Lois rent money. She won't accept it, which makes zero sense to Brian. Why should she let him stay for free in her home? He's not her child. Or the family dog.

He buys groceries for the house instead.

When he's not working, he and Stewie are pretty much attached at the hip. Brian doesn't mind. He remembers Stewie having a kind of crush on him when he was younger, and perhaps it's starting to resurrect itself again, but Brian's not too fussed about it, to be honest. Mainly because when Stewie's in a swooning mood, he's almost ineffably sweet toward Brian.

They confer about politics, philosophy, and music. He'll drag Brian before the T.V. and make him watch recordings of Stewie acting in college, doing _Man of La Mancha _or whatever, and then start singing along during the musical bits, persuading Brian to do the same. They've performed some lovely duets together lately, and afterward Brian's spirits are always mysteriously lifted.

He'll even tag along with Brian to the supermarket. On the last such occasion, he- being spectacularly immature and hoping to get to hitch a ride- hopped on the back of the shopping cart Brian was pushing and accidentally made it topple over. Their prospective purchases scattered everywhere, a pickle jar broke, and Stewie smacked into a display of (of all things) diapers. At least it was a soft landing, if not peculiarly apt.

And occasionally Brian'll go out drinking with Peter and the guys.

The Clam gets horrible business now. Horace, its longtime proprietor, died a few years ago and left it, for some incomprehensible reason, to the Greased Up Deaf Guy. He's now referred to as the Boozed Up Deaf Guy, and has undergone a significant personal improvement, really. For while he's sauced basically 24/7, he's not doing drugs, not _not_ wearing clothes, and, well, not covered in slippery gunk.

He is not, however, a great bartender. The Clam wasn't what you would call a classy joint to begin with, and now it just looks even seedier. Oftentimes when Brian goes there with Peter, Joe, and Quagmire, they four men constitute the sum total of patrons.

Boozed Up Deaf Guy makes his martinis a little heavy on the vermouth, too.

It is the day before Stewie's birthday. Brian has just gotten home from work and he pitches himself onto the sofa. Before long, the front door bursts open and Stewie staggers inside, panting, very red in the face, wearing a sweat suit and a pair of weighted wrist bands. Lois is behind him, jogging in place on the threshold, inspecting a pedometer, and doesn't catch the wrathful look he throws her.

"Nev-never," he wheezes, "Never again, Lois." He bends in half clutching his knees, and out of the corner of his eye casts a sidelong glance at Brian. He smirks. "Damn you, vile woman."

Brian doesn't care if it's at Lois's expense; he falls from the couch, laughing his ass off.

Lois tssks. "You guys are rude," She reaches over and tilts Stewie's chin up. "And _you _are just a little wuss." She's practically baby-talking to him and the love in her eyes takes the sting out of her words.

"Hmph! Instead of a thank you I get an insult. Nice."

"Oh, Stu, of course I appreciate you coming on my run with me." She explains to Brian, "My usual workout buddies canceled on me." She snorts. 'Feeble old biddies!" Rubbing her palms together, she heads for the kitchen. "And now I think I'm entitled to a big greasy cheeseburger- that's what's for dinner tonight!"

Stewie settles next to Brain on the couch. "How was work?"

Brian groans and massages his temples. "Just fine, dear…"

Stewie studies him thoughtfully, worrying his lip. "You don't like your job, do you?"

"Oh, no, I _thrive_ off being a mindless cog with no creative input at a small town rag," says Brian drolly.

"I wish," Stewie begins, "for you to take me out for a pre-birthday drink tonight."

Brian nods and stretches his legs out indolently on the couch, playfully nudging Stewie to the far end. "That's nice," he yawns.

Stewie picks up Brian's feet, pretending to gag at their smell, and plunks them down on the floor. "_You _said, B-rye," he whines, "You offered lunch and a drink…"

"I believe it was lunch _or_ a drink," Brain interjects, earning a look of near sovereign arrogance from Stewie.

He holds up a finger majestically. "Regardless! Can you not indulge me even in this, oh, ungenerous one? You can count it as my present, if you like. Unless…do you have a hot date tonight or something?" Does his voice go up an octave when he asks this?

Brian sighs, forced to reply unfortunately in the negative, and agrees to the drinks.

________________________________________________________________________

They drive to the Clam directly after supper. Stewie is wearing the ghastly red silk shirt from the afternoon Brian arrived. Perhaps it is only the 'nice' (that word used loosely) article of clothing he owns. Should Brian be touched or apprehensive that he is making an effort?

Or indifferent. He settles for indifferent. Why jump to the conclusion that this is on account of _him_?

Brian snags a booth while Stewie places their drink orders. The establishment is typically deserted, excepting themselves and Seamus the sea captain, who sits alone on a stool at the bar next to where Stewie is attempting to communicate his and Brian's beverage choices to BUDF.

Stewie returns clasping a martini in one hand, and a frothy pink concoction in the other, possibly some sort of daiquiri.

"Hmmm, I wonder who gets what?" Brian muses, rolling his eyes and holding out his hand for the martini glass. Stewie glowers and presses his fingers around the other drink instead.

"Don't stereotype!" he scolds, his mischievously glittering eyes belying his offended tone. He takes a sip of the martini and gingerly sits down opposite Brian.

They're enjoying themselves, despite the fact that Brian doesn't touch the unidentifiable brew he's been saddled with and is startlingly lucid. Stewie's on martini number two. He can't be buzzed yet, but his behavior would suggest otherwise, so Brian assumes that he _wants _to be. Blue Oyster Cult's _Don't Fear_ _the Reaper _is playing and Stewie smilingly hums it under his breath, his eyes fastened on some invisible point in the distance. He's happily pensive.

Incidentally, this song has certain ties to Brian's memory. He informs Stewie that it was Tanya's favorite.

"Do you miss her? Poor Brian."

For the life of him, Brian can't discern whether the sympathy or acidity in Stewie's voice is more prevalent. He squints at the younger man.

"Erm…no."

Brian had never before had a girlfriend who looked good on paper. To have one who was pretty, smart (but not smarter than him), sane (which basically meant no Conservative Republicans), and not a skank seemed so almost too much to hope for that at one point he despaired of it ever happening for him.

Imagine his shock when he met Tanya, a very attractive reporter for a newspaper in the small town of Timbleton, Connecticut. She was a lively, vivacious thing about whom everything seemed to glitter. She shared all of Brian's liberal leanings and encouraged his literary aspirations, fully getting off on the whole 'struggling writer' concept and convinced of his innate brilliance.

It took him only a few months to propose to her, and move to Connecticut.

Their marriage started out great. It had a hint of unreality to it, like perpetual sun-glazed, golden afternoons. All too soon, though the cracks in the plaster cast of their union began to show. Looking back, Brian realized that it was doomed to end eventually, even if Tanya _hadn't_ slept with his book agent. All the energy she seemed to naturally possess was in all actually siphoned from others. She was passionate about nothing (not even him), it transpired, but she admired people who were. She reveled where they reveled.

The marriage lasted all of three years, and for his part, Brian was out of love with her after the first two.

Apropos of nothing, Stewie says, "Twenty-two isn't a big deal. Eighteen makes you legal to do most things. Twenty marks the end of your teens. At twenty-one, you can do this…" he takes a swallow of his martini, "legally. So twenty-two is the first 'adult' birthday in a sense. You know, when you're an adult and your birthdays either mean nothing or they mean something bad?"

Brian laughs and mocks him. "Why? Are you planning to-to lie on your driver's license when you're my age and say you're only twenty-nine? Like a chic?"

"I'd be able to carry it off," Stewie counters, lips quirking, "I'm already using night crème."

"Oh, it shows, it shows!" cries Brian, playing along, then shakes his head in disbelief. There's a friendly pause before Brian ventures, "Wouldn't nineteen be a nothing birthday, too?"

Stewie grimaces. "Ugh. Nineteen was memorable for all the wrong reasons for me. I tried to sleep with a woman when I was nineteen."

Okay, they've officially crossed over into awkward territory. Brian has no issue with Stewie's orientation, yet he has an instinctual aversion to it becoming a topic of conversation. He _never_ wants to hear _anything_ about his personal life, unless he supposes he _must, _as in the instance of an engagement announcement. (Although somehow the idea of Stewie with a spouse does not compute.)

He clears his throat. "So…yeah, here's, uh, I'm sure you can look forward to Lois baking you a cake tomorrow."

Stewie grunts. "She's a saint."

"She's quite a remarkable lady," Brian seconds quietly.

"Fuck," Stewie mutters, shaking his head, his shoulders aquiver with dry laughter. "You don't still love _her_, do you?"

Brian makes a sour sort of face, then schools his features blank.

Stewie plucks the olive from the toothpick in his martini glass and flicks it across the room. "_Lois,_ Brian. Don't feign ignorance."

"I…," Brian sighs and considers how to respond without committing himself. "I, uh, have no…hopes or expectations in that…"

Stewie cuts him off. "That's an answer to a different question. Answer the question _I_ asked you."

Brian scowls at him. "When you really love somebody, it never goes away entirely."

Stewie sucks in a breath. He lifts his glass in a wordless toast to Brian, then downs it, thereby polishing off his second. "You're right," he says simply. A pause. "But you don't want to be my stepfather."

Brian grins. "_You're_ right." He finally has a sip of his own drink. It's revoltingly sweet and he immediately wants to spit it back out.

"If you decide to leave Quahog," says Stewie, scrutinizing Brian's face intently, "I'm coming with you."

Brian _does _spit the drink out. All over the table. A perfect spit take. Wow. He thought moments like that only happened on T.V.

"_What_?!" he sputters. "Stewie…you can't just decide, unilaterally…"

"Well, why ever not? It's a brainwave, isn't it? Why should you be at all against the idea? There's nothing to hold us in Quahog. It's a freakin' ghost town man, the smart ones get out, everybody knows that! I only came back to wait for my shot and…" he slaps his knee and signals to the bar for another drink, "here you are! We live together here, we can live together anywhere. Away from Lois, away from temptation…"

Brian is absolutely bewildered. "She's no temptation! I'm not going to, I wouldn't…" He passes a hand wearily over his eyes. "Wait. Just wait. This is absurd. Who says I'm going anywhere?"

Stewie had a higher alcohol tolerance as an infant. Brian can tell he's already a little tipsy. His eyes have a sheen to them and he's inordinately excited about another Road to Wherever. The bartender brings him his drink and his lips attach to the rim like he's a fish taking to water.

"When did you stop taking risks?" Brian says softly. "Why am I your shot? You want to leave, why do you have to leave with me? You used to dream of conquering the world. Now you're afraid of even stepping out into by yourself."

"Not afraid," Stewie mumbles.

"I know any compliments we ever gave each other were few and far between," Brian admits. "But I'm not telling you anything you don't when I say that You. Are. Brilliant. You should become some big important scientist and cure deadly diseases…or, or… a celebrated actor, performing Shakespeare before rapt audiences!" He gesticulates wildly with his cocktail umbrella.

"I'm not afraid," Stewie reiterates. He takes an audible, jerky breath and looks up, capturing Brian's eye. The clouds have cleared from his gaze, leaving it sharp, penetrating, and candid.

"I'm in love with you, Brian," he states perfectly evenly, then stares into his once-again empty martini glass. He chuckles darkly. "See. I _do_ take risks."

_Fuck_. Brian is experiencing a sensation not unlike a fist wringing his intestines. Why can't he just laugh this off? Let himself, let Stewie off the hook? If he acts like he believes Stewie to be kidding…but who with even half a brain in their head could possibly construe this as anything not coming straight from the heart?

Brian feels…well, unnerved, mostly. And- guilty? That's stupid, he has no business feeling guilty.

"You love me, do you, Stewie?" Brian repeats sadly, stirring his drink with his umbrella.

"Ardently," says Stewie solemnly. "If you doubt me…" "I don't doubt you," Brian protests, his tone gentle, "But I think you love me because you- how can I put this- uh, sort of _imprinted_ on me."

"Well…so what if I did?" Stewie challenges.

Brian shakes his head. "That type of love isn't healthy, Stewie."

"It's no more unhealthy than you falling in love with Lois because she's the amalgamation of every quality you believe the ideal woman should possess!" Stewie fires back angrily. "She's your fantasy, Brian. That is from what whence stems your devotion. She's your fantasy, or close enough. My God, do you even realize how often you two'd be at loggerheads if you ever got together, Brian? You disagreed about gay marriage, legalizing pot…so, what? You think she's _teachable_, though? You're going to remove what little individualism she _does _have, so she can come around to your method of thinking? I hate to break it to you, Brian, but it's beyond time you faced facts- she is _never_ going to understand your mind. She is _never_ going to know you, and know you in the way it counts!"

This long diatribe of Stewie's has Brian almost quivering with rage, fingers white-knuckled clutching his glass. _Stewie has _not _hit the nail right on the head, _he thinks feverishly to himself. _He hasn't. How dare he go and try to belittle the only lasting love I've ever felt for anyone?! _He clings to his umbrage with all the desperation of a man clinging to a lifeline.

"What the _fuck _do you know?" Brian hisses, "And I suppose you love me for my own intrinsic worth, do you?"

"I do!" Stewie affirms, nostrils splaying, "_You _are not _my _fantasy, Brian. But I still…" his voice weakens and trails off.

"I still want you all the same," he concludes softly, not meeting Brian's eyes.

"Yeah, well, get over it," Brian retorts, clambering to his feet and deserting Stewie in the bar.

________________________________________________________________________

He stops off at a general store down the block and buys himself a bottle of Jack, seeing as how he's just spent two hours in a bar and is just as sober as when he entered it. He slightly self-consciously takes a _Playpen Magazine_ to the back of the store and thumbs through it, ogling all the hot, slutty women and thinking about how he hasn't gotten laid in almost two years. Before he gets too…_stimulated _in a public place, he returns the magazine to the rack, goes outside and drinks on the curb. He can get blotto in public, that's fine, as long as the police don't see him. How much pride does he have left anyway? He's sure he could measure it in hundredths of ounces.

Fifteen minutes later, he recalls that, _shit, _he has a car, doesn't he? Parked at the Clam. What if Stewie attempts to drive it home? _Oh, God…_

Forsaking the remainder of his bottle of Jack Daniels, he races back to the bar parking lot.

It's empty.

_Christ. _He utters several loud and colorful cursewords, genuinely terrified. If Stewie left right after Brian, he might've made it home okay, although he _was _pretty gone. However…Brian calculates in his head…

_It took him about ten minutes to walk to the liquor store…twenty minutes or so inside…a quarter of an hour spent downing whiskey…If Stewie only just left…_

How much is Stewie capable of drinking in forty-five minutes?

Brian hurriedly calls a taxi.

________________________________________________________________________ _The cab driver barely avoids hitting Stewie, lurking there in the shadows in front of the garage, now illuminated by the cab's headlights. He staggers, inebriated, around to Brian's side as the latter cautiously withdraws himself from the vehicle, debating whether or not he should ask the driver to be taken elsewhere.

He and Stewie examine each other in the receding glare of the taxicab lights as the automobile peels slowly out of the driveway. Stewie's left eye acquires a drunken tick. Then suddenly it is too dark to see a foot in front of his face and the porch light is on, so Brian moves toward that. Stewie is tottering behind him, muttering unintelligible things.

"I'm through listening to you!" Brian shoots over his shoulder. "You're obviously sloshed out of your gourd."

Into the hush of the inky black night Stewie bellows, "I saved your life! I saved your fucking life!"

Brian leaps down off the doorstep and advances on Stewie. "Shhh! Shhhhh!" He orders, looking fretfully, surreptitiously up at the sleeping house.

"You…you would be _dead_ if not…if I hadn't…" Stewie's voice is quieter now, and almost wooden sounding.

"Thank you," says Brian. He turns and heads back in the direction of the house. It's scary how fast Stewie is next to him, considering the younger man's condition. His face is green under his pale complexion, and there are tears in his eyes.

"You would be dead," he whispers.

Stewie lunges forward and his mouth is on Brian's with mad, desperate resolve.

Several seconds pass as if in an incomprehensible, disorienting void where Brian truly has no idea what the hell is happening. Stewie's lips press hard against his, his hands balled in the front of Brian's shirt and Brian just _freezes._ And then it hits him- isn't this kissing? They. Are. _Kissing._

Well, Stewie's kissing _him._ Not for long, though: Brian's going to put a stop to it right now.

Except somehow, when he puts his hands on Stewie's shoulders to shove him away…they stay there instead, holding him in place. And surely opening his mouth to protest the situation was a dumb move on Brian's part, because Stewie takes this chance to shove his tongue into Brian's mouth, hot and forceful and not particularly loving.

This is not, in fact, kissing after all, then, but some kind of dual. What other choice does Brian have- he _has _to retaliate. Especially since he is now almost choking on Stewie's tongue. His own pushes back determinedly.

Until Brian starts wondering whether Stewie's vomited yet, if he will tonight, or if it'll wait until tomorrow. He _really_ doesn't want Stewie throwing up in his mouth. Behind his back, he works his key into the lock.

He pulls away once he's got the door open and moves backward inside. His heart is going like a jackhammer. He opens his mouth to tell Stewie off, the closes it with a snap when Stewie sways on his feet and nearly faceplants on the living room floor.

Brian catches him and lays him down right on the carpet. He won't bother dragging him over to the couch: let Lois discover him like this in a few hours and give him a proper chastisement. He does, however, remove the young man's shoes and unbutton his jeans.

Tomorrow is another day. Right now it looms like doomsday. Maybe Stewie won't remember anything in the morning. Brian isn't a God-fearing man, but he prays with everything he has for this to happen.

He needs his narrow, lumpy cot upstairs, if his trembling legs will carry him to it. He needs rest. Is it normal to be able to _feel_ your blood, feel it pounding through your veins?

_Stewie_, he thinks, _you might have save my life once, but you will surely be the death of me. _

_To be continued…_

**Please Review!!! ****J**

**(and FYI, the town of Timbleton, Connecticut is fictional.)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

Stewie is spread-eagled on the carpet of his bedroom, eyes closed, and wearing ear buds to listen to his meditation recordings as he breathes in for seven, holds for four, out for seven. It's a ritual he learned from one of his old roomies in Boston, Zoey, a new-agey type whose fondness for hashish probably rivaled Willie Nelson's. It at least far surpassed Brian's…

_No, no, no! I am _not _thinking about Fido, I am clearing my mind._

His hangover was amazingly, blessedly milder than it should've been this morning. So much the better, for he awakened to the sound of Lois shouting at him. During the subsequent inane inquisition, he mentally answered every question she lobbed at him:

"What on earth happened to you?!"

_I got stinking plastered, what to do you think, you slow-on-the-uptake house frau?_

"How much did you have to drink last night?!"

_Well, you see, at a certain juncture you become _so _plastered as to lose count…_

"Why didn't you know when to stop?!"

_The body was willing but the spirit was weak._

"I can't believe this! Why didn't _Brian_ stop you?!"

_Well Mother, he disappeared on me after I declared my love for him, seeing as he'd rather hump _you.

Verbally, he responded to each, "I dunno."

That was the worst of it, though. There _were_ perks after all for (unaccountably) being Lois's favorite child. Stewie could surmise her logic: if she let her loser husband get away with coming home in such a condition, how could she in good conscious be rough on a 22-year-old son who only did what most young men do? And it's not like he made a habit out of it.

Over the rhythmic chanting of "You are quiet, you are still, you are at peace," he thinks he hears someone hollering his name and pounding on his door

He opens it to discover Brian on the opposite side, his expression ambivalent.

He can't believe that Brian would seek him out in his bedroom; he would've thought that he'd want to avoid him at all costs.

"Happy birthday, Stewie." Brian thrusts a small package, beautifully wrapped in shimmering silver paper, into Stewie's hands. Stewie examines it admiringly. Most men are inept at the practice of present-wrapping- most heterosexual men, anyway. However, Stewie is slightly disappointed by his gift's diminutive size and light weight.

Turning up his nose, he states the obvious:

"This isn't my poetry collection."

"Ha, ha, no, I…I guess not. Well, you know, kiddo, the price was kinda steep for me right now…" He motions to the little silvery bundle. "Well, go ahead! Open it."

Stewie snorts and rotates it in his hands, watching intently the almost psychedelic effect of the light reflecting off the glossy paper, the spangled swirls emblazoned upon it. "You didn't have to get it gift-wrapped."

"I didn't."

And Stewie suddenly doesn't want to open it, to destroy Brian's handiwork. He's dismayed by his own sentimentality. The dichotomy of his character has always been his simultaneous hatred of the loss of power…and his titillation by it. At what point, he wonders, did Brian start having this power over him?

Too long ago in the past to tell.

"Later," Stewie says, raising and lowering his shoulders in a manner to suggest supreme disinterest. He tosses the package unceremoniously onto the bed before walking over to join it. He takes care not to lie on it as he stretches out his long lean frame and stares vacantly at the ceiling.

He is palpably aware of Brian's presence still in the room. All he can think of is hot, firm lips and the other man's solid grip on his shoulders.

"About last night…listen, don't sweat it man," he requests, trying to make his voice carefree. "I don't want you to feel weird about this. I wasn't…asking you out or anything, it was…" His lungs feel heavy, the charade expending more energy almost than he can furnish whilst feeling so downtrodden. "It was a simple statement of fact, and quite possibly a bit of an embellishment. I'm prone to exaggeration, you know. I k-know I said _'love'_" he endeavors to pronounce the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, "but what I really should have said was 'I'd like to jump your bones'. I'm attracted to you, big deal." He concludes with a laugh.

Brian is silent and Stewie wonders if he'll accept the grade-A shit Stewie's shoveling his way. Then again, what choice does he have? If he cares about salvaging their friendship at all, he'll slap a clothespin on his nose, stare it in the face and say 'fine'. If not, he'll likely feel awkward enough to leave Spooner Street without delay,

"Some things just need to be vocalized," Stewie mumbles quietly.

An extra serving of silence before Brian finally comes up with, "Lois made you a cake with maple flavored frosting. I've never even heard of maple frosting; where do they sell that?"

Stewie lolls his head to the side to look at the other man. He makes sure Brian's eyes are on him before he rolls his. Brian flashes him a grin so familiar that Stewie's heart skips a beat.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh and asks, "Is she gone yet so I can go downstairs? The insupportable wench always fusses over me excessively on my birthday."

Brian has a peek at the wall clock. "Hmmm…give her another fifteen minutes, she said she was going to start her jog at 1:00. She was on the phone with some lady called Lydia when I was in the kitchen." His smile alters into a frown. "I'm glad she's finally got a set of girlfriends, but do you ever think she might be overdoing it with the exercise?"

Stewie merely shrugs. He observes Brian meander over to his overflowing bookshelf. He has more still unpacked in his suitcase that he brought from his apartment in Massachusetts. These are the ones he left 'at home'.

"You have my books! Both of them!" Brian plucks _Quotient of Bravery_ from the shelf, runs his hands almost caressingly over the cover, endeavoring to smooth back the dog-eared upper corner. "I didn't even know you read this one."

"Everything the critics said was true," says Stewie impassively.

They said it was an enjoyable, if somewhat puerile and clichéd read, with over-inflated dialogue and a convoluted writing-style.

Brian smiles tautly. "Yes. My wife told me it was magnificent and I more or less told her to choke on her lies." He gives a single dry laugh. "I was just proud of myself that it didn't take years to finish. And that it sold a few copies. I always wanted to write something powerful and profound, but I guess I just don't have it in me."

Crossing his legs at the ankles, Stewie makes a inarticulate noise of disparagement in the back of his throat, but God help him, he _feels_ for Bryan. He never thought that it was in his nature to be empathetic, but right now his first instinct is to say something comforting. And he is fighting it tooth and nail.

Brian replaces the novel and turns and walks toward the window, brushing the curtains aside and gazing outside. "I-I'm ssorry that I…that I can't," his voice falters and he pauses. He holds his shoulders very tense; his hands are clasped behind his back and one of them spasms reflexively. "Like you said, there are some things that need to be vocalized…"

In one fluid movement, Stewie swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up rigid looking at the other man, heart clenching painfully in his chest. "Not that," he says hastily.

Brian pivots on his heel to face Stewie and casts him a bemused expression. Stewie flings his arms out to his sides and gives a shout of frustration. He paces the floor in a circle, his tread heavy enough to cause the boards underneath to shudder infinitesimally.

"Damn it all to the fiery pits of Hades! What to you take me for, Brian? It does not require a person of my vast intellectual capacitites to deduce that you were about to 'let me down easy', as it were. Well, I do not desire to hear it! We shall see now if you possess enough shreds of decency to hold back this inherent impulse you have to exonerate yourself from blame…if you will spare me having to listen when _I ALREADY UNDERSTAND!"_

Brian's face is beet red from embarrassment as he shifts apprehensively from foot to foot. "Um…okay. I'll just… He sidesteps his way around Stewie to the door. He shuts it a little too hard as he goes and because of his compunction to apologize for _something_, calls back to him, "Sorry!"

And even though Stewie can no longer see him, he can picture Brian swiftly clapping a hand over his mouth so clearly in his mind that he emits a sort of crazed giggle as he collapses to the floor.

_Happy birthday to me. Whoopdy-fucking-do._

________________________________________________________________________

Brian swears and pushes himself away from the computer with exasperation after getting his ass thoroughly kicked at yet another game. Stewie laughs gleefully.

"Well, _clearly _you're useless at Deathkill Apocolypsse 3. How about table tennis?" He indicates the Ping-Pong table in the corner of the basement.

Brian rubs at his temples. "Can't we play chess?" he complains, "Remember the last time we played table tennis?"

"Oh my _God! _I totally do!" Stewie exclaims delightedly, As the memory floods his brain of the lame-ass bachelor party Peter threw for Chris, he's suddenly holding his stomach in a fit of uncontrollable mirth. Stewie, getting ready to serve the ball, had pulled his arm back so aggressively that he accidentally thwacked Chris hard enough in the mouth to break two of his front teeth. And the next day he had to get married like that.

"Oh, that was just _fantastic_! He looked like a fucking hillbilly and now with the fake teeth he has, he can't eat corn on the cob!"

"Ha!" says Brian, "You haven't changed that much after all, have you, sadistic little sod?"

Stewie deliberates. "Well…" he says slowly, "We none of us can really be fair judges of ourselves, can we? But overall…I think I'm a good person."

Brian tilts his head and squints at him as though trying to make something out.

Stewie squeezes his arm as he passes him on the way to the stairs. "Come on, I haven't eaten any lunch."

Brian follows him into the kitchen. They are alone in the house again with Lois gone on her run and Peter at work. Meg is no longer lodging with them; she's presumably returned to the apartment she until lately shared with Wendy.

Stewie heats a can of beef stew for them to split. Brian laughs and makes a stupid comment about 'Stewie making stew' and Stewie calls him lame and a douche bag. They sit down at the table and as they take sustenance Brian carps about the sort of drivel they're printing in the _Informer, _puff pieces on new traffic lights and an increase in the squirrel population.

The phone rings, surprising them both. Stewie goes to answer it.

"Griffin residence."

He scarcely registers what the unknown male voice on the other end says after it offers him a brusque, token salutation. The words, Stewie's sure, make perfect sense linguistically, and as far as syntax goes, but…this is not something occurring in _his_ life, not on _this_ day…

He thinks he says, "Oh, God,". It doesn't sound like his voice; it sounds weak and benumbed. He puts the phone back in the cradle.

Brian is peering at him inquisitorially, in an odd squatting position, partway standing up out of his chair.

Stewie gropes for the wall to steady himself, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

"Lois had a heart attack. She's in the hospital in critical condition."

_To be continued…_

**A/N: I just realized that there's a lot of death, pain, and injury in this story. It started with Meg's hubby kicking the proverbial bucket, then Peter smashed into those funhouse mirrors, and now Lois's heart attack.**

**Oooh cliffy! I don't know how many of you care what happens to Lois (I'm with Stewie, myself: I just don't get what Brian sees in her ), but please send any comments thizaway & let me know how this chapter holds up!!! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello out there! Just thought you might like to know that I've got the outline for this story all figured out now. It will be sixteen chapters long according to , fifteen to me, since 'Chapter 1' on here is really the prologue. **

**So does Lois live or what? Read on…**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

Stewie is let in to see Lois; Brian is not.

"But I-I _am _family!" he insists to a blasé orderly with a single two-inch long hair growing out of her chin, "I'm, uh…her cousin!"

The woman pops the gum she's chewing and shrugs her boulder-esque shoulders obdurately. "Only _immediate _family is being let in right now. Sorry." She lumbers away.

Brian growls under his breath and slumps into a chair in the waiting room, taking up a years-old copy of _People Magazine. _

"Brian!" Peter is suddenly rushing toward him through the automatic doors. "Lois…where's Lois?" he pants. "What the hell happened?" He doesn't pause for Brian's reply, but dashes for the reception desk, demanding of the secretary there, "My wife, where's my wife?"

He's given the room number and is off.

After an indeterminate amount of time, which Brian spends inventing shapes that the spots on the walls look like and feeling nauseous, a hand deftly plucks the magazine from his lap.

"Hey," says Stewie.

"How is she?" Brian's throat is dry. "Can I go in now?"

Stewie waves for Brian to walk with him down the hall as he begins speaking. "She's…going to be alright, they think. She's conscious and everything. Thank God someone was with her when she went into cardiac arrest- her friend Lydia performed CPR on her."

There is a different orderly outside Lois's room. Brian tugs on the back of Stewie's shirt to halt him while they are still out of his earshot.

"Am I going to be allowed in? I was told immediate family only…"

Stewie cuts him off by delicately sliding his hand into Brian's and coaxing him further along the corridor.

Stewie nods his head nonchalantly at the orderly when they reach him and makes to move unimpeded with Brian into Lois's hospital room. However, he _does _get called out on it:

"He family?" The orderly points to Brian.

Not missing a beat, Stewie answers breezily, "He's my life partner," and tows Brian inside after him. They stand just within the room, still loosely holding hands, and Brian stares ahead at the figure on the hospital bed.

Twists of wires and tubes surround Lois's frail and reclining figure. Brian's stomach knots. She is awake, as Stewie had said, and talking to Peter stationed in a plastic chair by her side. Her dry-looking lips stretched into a wan smile as she clutches his hand.

She notices her new visitor after a moment.

"Brian!" her voice is happy but thin, summoning him to her bedside.

"Lois." He crosses the room in the blink of an eye. He takes up her free hand. "I-I can't believe…" _How insubstantial you look just now, _would be the honest conclusion of his sentence. 'I can't believe that this happened to you' would be a falsehood, for Brian can, now he thinks about it. God, why didn't he see it coming sooner? Why didn't he say anything?

Breathing tubes up her nose, she assures him that she will be alright. Like her son, she credits her friend Lydia for her survival. Brian hadn't perceived the fifty-something woman with frosted light brown hair and a pink jogging suit in the corner. He, too, expresses his gratitude toward her for saving Lois.

Lois is looking beyond Brian's shoulder at Stewie.

"Stu, sweetie," she says, her eyes brimming with apology, "I'm so sorry I won't be able to cook your special birthday dinner tonight. I feel terrible that your day's been ruined."

Stewie snorts. Striding toward her, he stoops and bestows the barest of kisses upon her forehead. "Do not concern yourself with it, Mother; you are forgiven."

She reaches up and tenderly cups his cheek.

Stewie clears his throat. "I've got to use the little boys' room. I'll leave you with Brian, Father, and your friend." He nods in Lydia's direction, but Brian thinks he discerns a glint of hostility in Stewie's gaze when he looks at Lois's jogging companion.

_______________________________________________________________________

He stays with Lois for perhaps a quarter of an hour and then she mentions that Stewie should certainly be back from the bathroom by now.

A doctor has come in and as he begins inspecting her stats, Lois tells Brian that he may leave. Lydia has already departed.

"You can't want to hang a depressing old hospital all day. And I've got Peter: he'll spend the night here with me…"

"Aw rats, does that mean I have to sleep in a chair?" Peter whines, interrupting. Lois glares at him.

"Of course that's a small price to pay to sooth my darling wife's discomfort," he quickly, sheepishly covers for himself.

"Take Stewie out to dinner or something. Whatever he wants to do ," Lois continues, addressing Brian, "I'll give you the money. I know he's worried about me, but I want him to enjoy his birthday as much as possible. Won't you make it up to him for me?"

Brian shakes his head, incredulous that all Lois can think about is her son's birthday being spoiled. Then he considers that the action of shaking his head in the negative indicates an answer the exact opposite of the one he intends to give. He switches to nodding instead.

"Sure, Lois. You don't need to pay me, though. I'll go find Stewie now." At the door, he stops and turns, offering her a heartfelt, "Please get well."

________________________________________________________________________

He aimlessly walks up and down the white-washed anonymous corridors of the hospital. In various parts of the building he encounters the unpleasant scents of medicine, or cleaning solutions, or nearer to the cafeteria, the aroma of unappetizing foodstuffs. His footsteps echo creepily on the hard polished floor. He meets few people in the halls, but once a couple workers wheel past a stretcher atop which is a motionless body tucked beneath a sheet, a tagged toe protruding from the bottom of it. Must be headed to the morgue. Brian must squeeze his eyes shut to recover his equilibrium.

If he doesn't run into Stewie soon, he'll have to call his cell phone and find out where he's at.

His own reaction to being kissed by Stewie the previous evening troubles him. Setting aside the fact that he is into women and would never (purposely) invite advances from _any _male…if he was going to be kissed by another man, he wouldn't have picked one who reeked of alcohol and frenched him furiously and sloppily.

So how to explain his kissing Stewie back? How to explain the passion that had been present when it really should've only been mouths, wet and nothing? How to explain the fever-like symptoms he'd experienced, the throbbing of his pulse, the dizziness?

At the end of one hallway Brian spots a vending machine and decides to stop and wet his whistle; all of a sudden his throat is quite dry. As he fishes for a dollar in his pocket, a voice startles him by saying, "What's up?"

Stewie is seated on a bench alongside a wall, his elbows propped on his knees and his chin in his hands. His posture reflects either boredom or defeat or a combination of the two and his face is the same.

"Hey," says Brian. He inserts a dollar into the soda machine. It promptly spits it back out. He sighs and attempts to press the errant bill into acceptability with the flat of his hand.

Stewie's foot taps restlessly on the linoleum.

The bill still won't go in. Brian roots around for another single in his pocket; he hasn't got one. "They're keeping her, obviously, overnight. Peter's staying here, too, he's going to sleep here. We, uh, you and I can go, if you want. They'll call us if anything changes." Third time's supposedly the charm- he tries sticking in the bill again. And…nope. Rejected.

Brian cusses and Stewie approaches, smirking in amusement. "May I?" His fingers lightly brush Brian's away from the dollar. He skillfully irons out the green paper against the machine, then tries slotting it in.

Somehow Stewie is triumphant. Brian pointedly ignores his smug smile.

"Thanks," he grumbles, and selects the Coke button. Stewie reclaims his place on the bench. The can pops out and Brian goes and parks it next to him.

He takes a sip of Coke, then bends and places it off to the side on the ground by his feet.

It would be so easy to quip that there was a time when this would've been an ideal birthday present for Stewie: his mother rushed to the hospital under life-threatening circumstances. But just thinking about letting something like that pass between his lips now, Brian is ashamed of himself. Even if it's contrary to his will, it's clear that Stewie loves his mother. Every proper blood-obligatory feeling of love has made itself known in him, even if he and Lois aren't, and never get to be, close.

"How are you?" Brian asks the young man.

"I don't know," answers Stewie, "How the fuck am I supposed to be?"

Brian merely shrugs.

Stewie slouches against him. Brian wavers, then puts an arm around the other man. Family comforting family. A friend comforting a friend. Stewie burrows his head close, in the curve of his shoulder. His breath is warm on Brian's neck, and in the cool, sterile atmosphere of the hospital, it causes him to shiver.

The clock above the vending machine ticks away the minutes and Brian's soda goes flat since to reach it he'd have to disentangle himself from Stewie, and he can't bear to do that at the moment.

_To Be Continued…_

**Thanks, everyone, for the great reviews, for the favs and alerts!!! Love to you all 3 **


	12. Chapter 12

**Okay, this chapter's been a pain-and-a-half to write. I try to update twice a week and I really had to bust my hump to churn this one out. Apologies for any typos. Hope you like it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

"Oh, my God! Could that have sucked any harder? That was the most brain rotting piece of dreck I've seen in a long ass time!" Stewie complains as he and Brian amble through the movie theater parking lot to the car.

Brian hums insouciantly. " You _don't see_ too many movies then, do you, Stewie? Sadly, movie studios put out loads of crap like this all the time."

It is a nice night, weather wise. Daylight stretches on longer now, so the sun hasn't fully set after eight o'clock. Despite the lousiness of the film Brian has just treated him to, and the niggling reminder that all is not as it should be with Lois in the hosptial, Stewie's in a fairly good humor. He can't understand why the people around them are in such a hurry to get home: what the devil could be waiting for them, in their measley little lives? Much better to stay outdoors and relish the comfortably temperate air, the budding greenery of nature springing up again around them.

So it is with affability that he rants about the movie.

"And therein lies problem! _This_ movie…_this _movie wasn't even original crap! It was a remolded exhibition of the same insipid crap countless action movies are made up, at least lately. No plot but lots of 'big cool explosions'"

Brian laughs placidly and expresses regret for not insisting on a different movie.

"Puh-lease," Stewie says, picking at the dirt underneath his finger nails. "It's _my _birthday, I was perfectly entitled to choose. And how was I supposed to know it would be so unwatchable?" He heaves a dramatic sigh. "I am the eternal optimist!"

This seems to divert Brian. "You are never going to be your own age, are you?" he asks, smiling thoughfully.

Stewie frowns a bit, not cottoning on. "I beg your pardon?"

They are in front of the car now and Brian leans a little on the hood and scratches at the back of his head, a very characteristic habit of his when he feels awkward. "It's like…okay, so when you were a child, right?"

Stewie raises both eyebrows in encouragement.

"Yeah, well…it wasn't just your genius that made you different…sometimes you were more like a little old man…"

Stewie's eyes narrow into slits.

"Let me finish my frickin' thought, huh?" Brian responds to Stewie's silent interruption. "Anyway, now you're grown up- mostly- and …you're not really twenty-two, either. There's this whimsical part of you that's forever a child, just like there was a part of you back when you were a baby that was far older than your years."

"That's probably true to some extent for everybody."

Brian shakes his head. "What I'm talking about is exclusive to you."

________________________________________________________________________

They've decided to call it a night and head back to the house. Brian offered to take him somewhere else, saying that Lois had told him to go along with whatever Stewie wanted to do.

"So what do you want to do?"

Stewie had colored, grateful that it was dark inside the car, as his mind readily supplied an idea of just what he would like to do with Brian.

"Nothing," he answered hastily, "Home would be good. It's been an exhausting day." Upon pulling into the drive, they discover Stewie's sister waiting on the porch for them.

"What the hell is up with you jackasses?!" Meg yells, "Where've you been? I'm here for _your _birthday dinner, Stu, if you didn't plan on even being home…" She looks around. "Wait, where's…"

"Your mother's suffered a heart attack, Meg," Brian says bluntly.

"Way to break it to her gently, Dog," remarks Stewie.

Meg's hands fly to her mouth. "Oh, my God!" she gasps, "Is she-"

Brian interjects once again to say comfortingly, "She's been downgraded to stable condition, she'll be okay."

Meg's voice is tremulous but livid. "Why am I always left out of everything?! I'm so fucking _sick _of this, you know that? My mom has a goddamn heart attack and nobody thinks to tell me?!" she rants.

"Well, you know now, why not pop in on her at the hospital?" Stewie suggests snippily. "As you remind us, it is, indeed the anniversary of my birth. Coinciding with this momentous occasion, _our_ mother experienced a coronary. I'd say, then, that that put a dent in the jubilations. So, for the present, if nothing else, I would beg leave to enter the house and relax for two seconds." He elbows her out of the way so he can access the door.

Meg squeaks indignantly. "And I had such good news to share. The best…"

"How lovely for you," Stewie drawls, hand on the knob.

"Don't you even want to know what it is?!" Meg demands angrily.

"Not really."

Brian coughs to camouflage a snigger and is right behind him as he steps inside.

Defiant, exacerbated, Meg cries out, "I got remarried!"

Almost as one, Stewie and Brian turn to gawk at her. Stewie's head rotates slowly sideways as he regards his sister in astonishment.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"

Meg shoves her left hand right under Stewie's pert little nose and wriggles her ring finger meaningfully. It's rational to suppose that the wedding band set that gleams there is a new one, but as Stewie hasn't a clue what the old one looked like, he can't recognize this as any sort of proof.

"Married?" Brian exclaims, "To whom? It hasn't even been two months since you were widowed!" His tone is repulsed.

Meg bristles slightly, squaring her shoulders. "Dean and I eloped. We caught a plane to Vegas yesterday and were married last night."

Stewie and Brian exchange a look and Stewie knows their minds are identically employed in trying to recall just who 'Dean' is.

All of a sudden, Stewie does.

"Ew!" he shrieks, fluttering his wrists. "That gross man from your shoe store who stunk like the dwelling of an unhygienic 70-year-old mentally-challenged shut-in?"

"That's a new one," remarks Brian, shaking his head. "Christ. And don't do that thing with your wrists: you're really not as fey as you act sometimes."

Stewie grins at him lasciviously. "On the contrary, I am _rather_…"

Brian cuts him off, blushing profusely. "I meant the flamboyance. Eight times out of ten it's a put-on."

"God, will you two idiots just put a lid on it?!" Meg shouts. "Otherwise you're never going to get to hear about my wedding!"

"I grieve," purrs Stewie, and slams the door in her face. He dusts off his hands in the classic 'that's that' motion and makes to establish a position on the couch, but Brian yanks the front door reopen, his brows knitted together.

"Meg!" he calls out to her, "Don't you dare say a word about your remarriage to your mother! I'm serious! She won't be able to take a shock like that now!"

The door closes once more with a bang. Stewie expects Brian to come and sit down next to him, but the other man instead bids him goodnight and heads up the stairs without further ado.

Stewie lies down on the sofa, propping his head up on its arm, and permits himself to simply stare into space and think for awhile.

It's so easy being with Brian, apart from the unrequited love aspect of it all. Stewie loves him enough to want him in his life in any capacity, even if they have to stay 'just friends' for the rest of their lives. That thought, however, is a particularly agonizing one. Rationally, they should take a long break from each other's company so Stewie may move on from Brian. But…hadn't they just had one? And Stewie's heart was no less Brian's than it had ever been. The ex-dog was right: when you really love someone, it never goes away entirely. Maybe it was inevitable that should Stewie get together with somebody who wasn't Brian he'd feel like he was settling.

But the thing is, he doesn't want to live his life that way.

It can't do any good to pursue this train of thought and wallow in melancholy, though.

In the kitchen the cake Lois baked earlier still sits where it was on the counter. It's a spice cake- like flavor topped with maple frosting. Stewie has always loved pancakes, and this dessert has a comparable taste. He cuts two slices and puts them on plates and proceeds upstairs.

Stewie raps smartly on the door to Brian's room, wondering if he's already asleep. However, within a few seconds, Brian answers, wearing sleep attire in the way of forest green argyle lounge pants and a vintage "Pawtucket Pete" tee. He's unsmiling and oddly guarded-looking. He arches a brow.

"Midnight snack!" Stewie chirps jauntily, presenting him with his slice of the birthday cake.

"It's 9:30, not midnight." Brian resignedly receives it and helps himself to a bite.

"I can't believe Meg," he says, "Her husband's not even cold in his grave and she's already replaced him. And with his best friend! Isn't that, like, the ultimate betrayel?"

Stewie prudently elects not to bring up the tiny detail that when Peter was believed to have died at sea, Brian couldn't wait to get his filthy paws on Lois and didn't hesitate to make her his bride.

"You weren't around when Wendell Goldman was courting Meg. They scarcely knew one another. And then he went and croaked not six months after they tied the knot."

"You mean to downplay the loss of him?" Brian asks in a low voice that has an unwarranted edge of testiness to it.

"I _mean_," Stewie sighs, "This is _Meg's _life we're discussing. Who gives a shit? Let's change the subject."

They linger in the hall, munching on cake in unbroken silence. Stewie shovels a particularly large forkful into his mouth. He starts to say something trivial to generate conversation, and somehow inhales sharply enough to force the not-fully-chewed bite of cake back into his throat. His eyes begin to tear, he wheezes, he can't breathe…

Brian's fork clatters onto his plate. "Stew- Stewie? Are you…are you choking?"

Stewie gives an emphatic nod, his arms flailing uncontrollably, and Brian says, "Jesus!", drops his plate and leaps into action, moving behind him and instigating the Heimlich maneuver. Just as the lightheadedness is setting in, the piece of cake shoots out of his mouth and out of sight down the hallway.

Once Stewie at last manages to catch his breath, he looks watery-eyed at his savior with almost worshipful gratitude.

"You saved my life, Brian!"

"It was nothing." He is still so close to Stewie. When Stewie lifts a hand to rub at his abused throat, his elbow grazes Brian's chest on the way up. Stewie chooses to take some harmless advantage of the situation, placing his other hand on Brian's shoulder, ostensibly to brace himself.

Brian tilts his head and leans in toward Stewie, seeking eye contact. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he replies, catching a whiff of maple on Brian's breath, ghosting against his skin. It is like they're standing in their own invisible bubble, the air of which is thick with an unpredicted tension. Stewie holds utterly still except for his fingers that curl more firmly into Brian's shoulder, suddenly needing that support.

Brian's eyes close. He exhales shakily across Stewie's jaw.

"I…" he murmurs, "I…"

"You," Stewie sighs, prompting Brian.

"I am very, very wrong, leading you on like this."

One moment Brian's in front of him, the next he hears the bedroom door hastily shut. Stewie is steeped in an all-over chill, accompanied by a sickening lurch of his stomach. The bubble has been popped.

_What the hell was that about?_

As Stewie walks toward his own room, he steps in cake and hears the shatter of china. He really ought to fetch the dust pan and broom, sweep up the debris from their ill-fated snack session. Screw it, it'll have to be vacuumed over tomorrow in any case; he'll leave it.

He hurls himself onto his bed…onto something hard. A sharp corner of what feels like cardboard jabs at his lower back.

_What the deuce?_

Stewie switches on his bedside light and pulls out from under himself a small box covered in shiny, silver gift wrap, and now with a dent in it.

"Son of a bitch," Stewie mutters under his breath. He lightly shakes the package, holding it up to his ear, and since he hears no broken pieces rattling about, considers that to be a good sign.

He kneels before his bed and as carefully as possible unwraps his birthday present from Brian by the glow of the lamp.

What's inside isn't breakable. It's a quality leather, oxblood-colored wallet. It's soft to the touch and smells terrific.

Inside there is already a picture tucked into one of the photo sleeves. Stewie slides it out. It's pretty old and crinkly, and he handles it with exceptional gentleness so it doesn't simply fall apart in his hands. He holds it close up under the bulb to inspect it.

He doesn't remember posing for this picture, or who took it. Probably Lois. And no, he _didn't _pose for it, it was snapped without his knowledge. He's only a year old or so, sitting on the floor of the living room, crayons and a coloring book spread out before him, not looking at the camera but with an uppity expression at Brian. Brian is perhaps three feet away from him, in the armchair, glaring at Stewie over the top of a book, but from this angle, one can also see that he's vaguely smiling.

That Brian kept this for ages touches him, causes his heart to swell. What made him to decide to hand it over to Stewie as a birthday gift? As a means of saying 'this is how far we've come' and "I care'? Well, _of course_ Brian cares: what's up for debate is how much, and exactly what _kind_ of caring it is.

Stewie slips the picture back into the billfold. Climbing back into bed, he cradles it against his chest as slumber claims him.

_To be continued…_

**Brian's just not cooperating, is he? We shall have to see if he comes around. Review please!!!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Very introspective chapter ahead, with some nice (PG-13 rated!) hotness at the end.**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

That night, Brian dreams of Stewie.

In the morning, Brian, frightened by the prospect of facing him at the breakfast table, gets up dreadfully early, dresses, and tiptoes out of the house. He drives to a bakery and buys a bagel, which he eats in the car parked in an alley . Beyond a doubt, he is pathetic. Would Stewie be as into him if he knew Brian didn't have any balls? _He_ created the situation the previous night, going in 90° toward a kiss with Stewie. Why?

Because he somewhere along those highways he's been so partial to traveling for the last half-decade lost his mind.

________________________________________________________________________

Sitting behind his desk later in his 8x10 cubicle, Brian can't conceive of what he did to kill all that time before he was scheduled to work. He thinks he remembers steering through a haze of twilight en route to the park to feed the ducks with another bagel he'd bought and after the park, sitting on a bench and watching the sunrise, going to the local library. Checking out a paperback thriller he haphazardly pulled from a shelf and trying to read it right there- he didn't arrive at page five before he decided it wasn't his cup of tea.

Eventually he was due to clock in over at the newspaper offices, and his slow routine of mind-numbing busywork and thumb-twiddling began.

Somehow he makes it through the day. It doesn't seem like it should be that much of an accomplishment, as he's part-time and only puts in four hours.

As he's leaving his cubicle and walking out of the workspace his cell rings.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Griffin? Mr. Brian Griffin?"

He doesn't recognize the cheery, polite male voice. "Yes…who is this?"

"Oh! Allow me to introduce myself, sir. You don't know me, but my name is Xan Reynolds. I read your book, _Quotient_ _of Bravery, _last year and I thought it was genius- I just adored it!" The man raves excitedly.

"Oh-uh, yeah…okay. Thanks." Brian clears his throat. "Um, I don't get phone calls from fans often…" or ever, but he's not about to say so, "how did you get my number?" He chuckles, so that the question doesn't sound as if it's coming from a place of disapproval.

Xan hesitates. "I…became acquainted with your book agent, J. M. Dillard, at a party about a month ago, and I managed to wheedle it out of him," he finally admits.

The mere mention of that man's name is enough to annoy Brian. Besides being a home wrecker, he really _had _gotten to be a bastard way before then, and in Brian's book (no pun intended), J.M. was the worst scum of the earth.

"Mr. Dillard is no longer my agent, and hasn't been for some time," he says stiffly. "The reason being that he is a grade-A douche bag." Who evidently hands out clients' phone numbers to anyone who asks.

To Brian's surprise, Xan laughs. "Wow. Now I feel better about not having liked him. You can ask my writing partner if you don't believe me: I said to him, right after we met Mr. Dillard- 'that man is the most grandiose asshole.'"

Brian chortles, suddenly warming to the man on the other end of the line. "Your writing partner? You're a writer yourself, then?"

"I try," replies Xan. "Right now, I'm doing some adaptation…well, I hope I am." He vacillates. "Um, that's actually why I got in touch with you today…"

A half hour later, Brian hangs up the phone with Xan Reynolds with his head spinning. The young man, a recent graduate of NYU, wants to stage an off-Broadway play version of _his _book, _Brian's_ book_. _He's already got a venue booked, thanks to family connections, and if Brian doesn't consent, will do a different show, but he purportedly _long_ to adapt _Quotient of Bravery. _

Brian will be compensated handsomely, of course, for allowing Xan and his group of "very talented friends" to use the rights, but what's more…they'd like Brian to come to New York and work alongside them on the play, give his input.

It's Xan referring to Brian's book as a "satire", and saying that he could see it becoming a "great, arty piece of irreverent theatre" that worries him.

Brian isn't sure of his opinion on the subject. He sees himself as a serious author and indeed, he didn't intend for either of his books to have a comedic aspect to them.. He doesn't write ironically, and it's sort of hurtful, to tell the truth, to know that these people read it as tongue in cheek. He knows _Quotient of Bravery _is genuinely regarded as pedestrian in literary circles, but nobody ever accused it of insincerity. Now Brian's receiving undue credit for being self-aware and smarter than the room and it makes him feel a hundred times over a fool and a fraud.

On the other hand, he supposes all art, including novels, is subjective, and it's Xan's and his friends' privilege to look on the book as they will. Although, Brian's instincts are telling him that they are planning to really 'camp it up' with this musical, and there's a subtle difference between irreverence and massacre. If, for example, Xan manage to fit in interpretive dancers wearing flowy, multicolored sheets and white face masks, Brian thinks he just may be sick.

Should he go to New York, then? He's always liked the city. It would be a way, too, of semi-protecting his artist's integrity and having some creative input in a project for a change. He wonders how long he would have to be gone for.

Things at 'home', in Peter and Lois's family, are mostly good. He's grateful that he came back, and got the opportunity to reestablish this connection with the Griffins, who'd been ignored for far too long while Brian was on his solitary journey, attempting to figure everything out. And yet, it's also different, almost like his ghost came home to meet his family again and not really him. Sometimes he's just going through the motions.

And then there's Stewie. Who'd added a whole new element of complication to Brian's life. He'll assume Brian escaped to New York just to get away from him. And while that notion does hold a certain charm…

No. He's no coward, and he won't hurt Stewie like that. He loves Stewie.

Brian's driving home now, and he feels a twinge in his fingers, and then he can't get them to bend. For a couple seconds, he is unable to grip the wheel. White swims before his vision. Mercifully, he collects himself, but _where did_ that _thought come from?_

Of course he loves Stewie. He's always loved him. In a strictly platonic sense. It's not as though he wants to take him in his arms, stroke that unruly hair of his, and kiss him crazy (which, admittedly, would take very little kissing). That would be downright perverse.

He's _not _a homophobe. He's just _not gay._

If Stewie was a woman, would he even hesitate to leap headlong into a relationship? There was nobody with whom he had a more natural affinity, after all. But…yes, he _would_ refrain, no matter Stewie's gender, if he'd still known him/her as a child. As a _toddler._ As an _infant. _For God's sake, it was practically incest, wasn't it?!

And moreover, they're friends. It's very irresponsible to gamble a friendship on a romantic liaison that may or may not work out.

Brian does a U-turn and swings around toward the hospital instead of Spooner Street.

________________________________________________________________________

"Hey, Lois," he greets her, easing himself into the hard plastic chair beside the bed. "Is Peter at work?"

"No," Lois sighs, "Peter's _rarely _at the office anymore: you know how often he used to skip work in the old days? Well, now it's about a thousand times worse. Since he's so near retirement, he's got one foot out the door." Then she mumbles under her breath, "And his head up his ass."

Brian coughs nervously. "At the house, then?"

"No. He's with the guys, I think. And he's rented a room at the hotel across the street, so he can be close to me and not have to sleep in that chair." She indicates Brian's current seat.

Brian frowns. "How long do you have to stay in the hospital, Lois? Do they know what caused your heart attack?"

Lois takes a deep breath and pulls at a loose thread in the knit blanket she has covering her. "That's…that's why I'm glad you came just now. My hear attack was due to overexertion: something about the tightening of a coronary artery. But while the doctor was checking me out, he found I also have a clot… I'm hhaving surgery tomorrow- no, don't look like that, Brian! These people are trained medical professionals, there's nothing to worry about."

"Oh, no?" Brian remarks sarcastically. _Surgeries are botched_ _all the time, _he thinks, deeply alarmed _And even if they're not, there're always things that can go wrong…_

He doesn't say this out loud. He inhales and counts slowly to ten in his head. Calms himself. The most important thing is to put Lois at ease. It's not fair to tax her with his own fears.

"I'm sorry," he concedes, forcing a twitchy, strainedsmile. "You're absolutely right, of course you are." He chuckles ruefully. "When…stuff such as this happens, I suppose it's only typical for those who love the patient to overreact…"

Brian stops, realizing just what he's said. He senses a blush rise to his cheeks. Lois tenses fractionally.

"Don't," she soothes, attempting to lay a consoling hand on his arm, but the intravenous tubes connected to her wrists hinder her. "It's been so long, Brain I know you didn't mean it like that."

"No. I didn't," Brian agrees.

Though he's speaks them at a perfectly normal decibel, the words seem to reverberate, to ring around him. And he knows quite suddenly and with unambiguous

conviction that he speaks the truth. He loves Lois. He still finds her alluring. But the old infatuation is gone.

"Stu's just been here," Lois brings up, "He said he had a lovely time with you last night. Thanks so much, Brian." She smiles at him warmly.

Brian wonders if she's quoting her son verbatim. 'A lovely time'? "Uh…you're welcome. It was my pleasure."

________________________________________________________________________

Stewie is in the kitchen cooking stir fry when Brian arrives home.

Standing over the skillet, the young man swivels around to look at him, sporting a totally indescribable expression.

"Can you watch this while I do something real quick?" Stewie gestures to his open laptop on the table.

Brian nods, his eyebrows lifting into his forehead. He steps around Stewie and approaches the pan of sizzling veggies and chunks of chicken. He stares ineffectually at the food, then reasons that maybe 'watching' shouldn't be take so literally, and so stupidly stirs it a bit.

_Clickety cla__ck click. _Stewie's fingers fly over the keyboard. "Pour in about half that bottle of Teriyaki sauce if you will," he directs Brian. "Keep stirring."

Brian spies the bottle on the counter and follows his instructions. Approximately five minutes pass before he ventures, "Er…what are you doing?"

"None of your beeswax," replies Stewie.

He continues typing and Brian cooks the remainder of the meal. When it is deemed done, the latter spoons it into two bowls and Stewie finally pushes aside his computer and they eat in utter quiet until Stewie criticizes the chicken for being 'rubbery'.

"And I've been to see Lois today," he informs Brian, seemingly steeling him for something. "She…"

"As have I," Brian interjects. "I mean, I went to see her, too. After work."

Stewie gives a little hiccupping fake-laugh. "Of course you did," he mutters.

Brian glares at him. "That was unfair. What kind of person would I be if…"

"I know. I know. You are right," Stewie cuts in, surprisingly conceding that he'd been rude. He exhales unsteadily. "So, she probably told you that she's having surgery tomorrow?"

"Yes," responds Brian, waiting for Stewie to say something else.

The younger man is staring fixedly at the pattern on his dish. He finally glances up to meet Brian's eye and offers, "She's- y'know- going to be okay and all."

Brian wonders who he's trying to convince.

After supper, they stand side by side at the sink and do the dishes, not speaking a word. Brian then takes a short nap in his room. When he wakes up, joints achy and his head in a fog, he groans and stretches at length, stumbling to the bathroom and splashing water on his face. There's a radio in the shower which he switches on to a station playing a rousing jazzy tune. Feeling a tad more alert, he takes a troll downstairs to encounter Stewie on the couch in the living room, watching _The Great American_ _Idol Survivor Race._

Brian sits next to him, almost on top of him, their thighs bumping. Stewie appears discomposed by his nearness, but doesn't move away. They both gaze dispassionately at the T.V. screen, occasionally making some lackadaisical observation about the show.

Out of nowhere, Stewie decides to share what he was doing earlier:

"I was chatting online with a career counselor. It's high time I became a responsible adult, contributing to society."

Brian pulls a face. "Oh, they don't know anything, Stewie. They obviously had no idea what _they _wanted to do, or they wouldn't have become career counselors. Trust me. I went to see one after I…" he clears his throat awkwardly, "_left _Brown…"

Stewie smirks. "After you flunked out? Which time?"

"Oh, screw off," Brian growls, suddenly annoyed.

"I have to decide, though," Stewie says quietly, barely above a whisper, "What I'm going to be. _Who _I'm going to be."

Brian turns to look at him. "You," he begins, very earnestly, "don't have to change a thing about yourself."

The set of Stewie's features is stoic but something behind his eyes alters.

"Do you have feelings for me, Brian?" he asks point-blank.

Brian fidgets in his seat, thrown for a loop by Stewie's matter-of-factness.

"Well…of course I have feelings for you. I feel that you are an irritating, ridiculous, venal brat.."

Stewie huffs in offended exasperation.

"…I feel like you are my friend, and you mean so much to me," Brian goes on, swallowing with difficultly, and adding hurriedly before he loses his nerve, "and I feel like I really, really want to kiss you."

The corner of Stewie's lip curves upward. "Do it then."

Their mouths move lightly, carefully against each other's at first, soft skin puckering and releasing slowly as if both expect to be spurned for attempting anything more intense. Ultimately the pressure of their lips grows firmer, the kisses become more prolonged, blending into one another, going deeper. Brian emits a soft moan. Stewie sober kisses infuriatingly well. Their bodies align and his arms snake around Brian's neck,

It's strange, running his hands along Stewie's back and sides, to encounter only straight lines. Not like with a woman, but not…bad…

Minutes or hours or days might have passed as their bodies push together, hanging onto each other, kissing with a kind of controlled madness.

Brian registers, in the snugness of their embrace, that Stewie is blatantly aroused at the precise same moment he becomes aware that he himself is in a similar state.

"Come to my room," Stewie sighs, right on cue against his lips.

Brian suddenly jerks apart from him with a gasp. "Wh-what?"

"Come. To. My. Room," Stewie says slowly and deliberately. His hand is working its way up and down Brian's arm, caressing it.

A twinge of temptation, a stab of panic. "I don't…Stewie, I," The breath catches in Brian's lungs. "That's _not _a good idea. I'm not…"

Stewie makes a humming noise against his throat, speaks his name, "Brian," in a horribly enticing tone of voice, and lays kisses upon his skin down to his collarbone. His tongue flickers out and licks daintily, and then he sucks lightly at Brian's clavicle. Brian had no clue that was an erogenous zone until now.

While Brian still has the presence of mind to draw back, he does so. "Stewie. Please. Listen." He's embarrassed to be begging, and at how husky his sounds just now. "This is- this is all happening way too fast. I need some time to think." Stewie complies and removes his arms from around Brian's neck, though he looks by all means unhappy about it. "Fine," he says curtly to mask his disappointment. "Yes, yes…fine." He stands, and smoothes out his clothing. Brian's eye is caught by Stewie's kiss-swollen lips, and he swiftly turns his attention to some nonexistent spot over Stewie's shoulder

"I'll be in the basement," Stewie says.

"Doing what?" Brian queries.

"What do you think?" Stewie shoots back, departing the room.

_To be continued…_

**Feedback is much appreciated! A big thanks to all my reviewers, & folks who've added TOFP to their favs/alert lists!!! **

**BTW, I've been scouring the web for Family Guy fanart (I guess it goes without saying that I'm particularly interested in finding some that features Brian and Stewie), but it's slim pickings at places like Deviantart. If anyone out there knows of some good sites, I'd love it if you could tell me via PM or just in your review. Thanks!**

**Take care, everybody!**


	14. Chapter 14

Nearing the home stretch here! Two more chapters left to go after this one!

Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.

**Brian and Stewie arrive at the hospital twenty minutes before Lois is going to be wheeled in to surgery to find the patient occupied in arguing with her husband, not an allusion of trepidation or melancholy about her.**

"**I don't care! Peter, you check out of that hotel today and sleep at home tonight! You're not wasting one more cent of our money! So help me God, there'll be hell to pay if I find out they charged you another 24 hours!"**

"**But Lois!" Peter laments, "This has been a very stressful time for us all! Having a place to party my ass off with my pals is essential to taking my mind off worrying myself sick about **_**you**_**! And, whoa ho ho! Now I know why they call it a **_**sweet**_**. Boy, is it freakin' ever! You could swim in the tub- well, I mean, you could, I can't- and, and the mini bar…"**

**Lois practically has smoke coming out of her ears.**

"**Uh, what's going on?" asks Brian cautiously.**

"_**Peter,**_**" Lois replies heatedly, pointing an emphatic finger at her spouse, "booked the**_** presidential suite **_**at the hotel across the street. They're charging us $350 every day he doesn't check out by noon!"**

"**Aw, sweetie, you know I'm only there in case something happens and I have to come quick…" Peter stops and chuckles moronically. "Heh heh. '**_**Come quick'**_**."**

"**Now you listen to me!" orders Lois through gritted teeth, "Like it was my last wish…"**

**Stewie cringes. He doesn't like his mother being so cavalier about this.**

"**I'm there as long as you're here. Well, Lois, what am I supposed to do, huh?" asks Peter, shrugging exaggeratedly. "Just sit around this hospital and mope all day instead? Just cry and pray and go all squishy sensitive like a queer? No offense, Stewie."**

**Stewie waves a dismissive hand. "None taken."**

"**Check out of that hotel now!" Lois bellows, shocking them all. A nurse comes bustling in.**

"**Mrs. Griffin, now don't yell like that!" she chides, fluffing Lois's pillow and looking anxious. "You shouldn't be upsetting yourself…"**

"**Bite me," Lois grumbles, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. The nurse makes a sound that Stewie supposes is the equivalent of 'well, I never!' and leaves with the warning that the doctor will be in in ten minutes to take her to surgery.**

"**Chris called me this morning," Lois informs the three family members present. "He wished me luck and told me he loved me…where the hell is Meg, anyway?" **

**As per usual, not a one of them had noticed her absence until Lois pointed it out.**

"**I don't know," says Brian, peering about as if she'll somehow ooze out of the wallpaper. He frowns. "That's not like her."**

**Lois all at once seizes Brian's hand, squeezing it with such enthusiasm that Stewie grimaces in sympathy for him. **

"**Brian," she says, crooking a finger, inciting him to lean down, closer to her. She kisses him on the cheek. "I love you. Never doubt that you are irreversibly part of the Griffin family."**

**Brian flushes and clears his throat as Stewie manfully attempts to quail a pang of unreasonable jealousy. **

"**I, er, possess those sentiments for you as well. Come on, now, Lois, buck up," he smiles. "This is no big deal."**

**Lois nods. "I know." But her eyes are filling with tears for the first time. She reaches out for Stewie next. "Where is my baby?"**

**Stewie sighs, clasping his mothers hand and lifting it to his lips. His head has the warm numbness of being wrapped in cotton, almost like he's drunk, but without the loss of inhibitions, and definitely with the feel-good factor. **

**He embraces his mother lightly. She doesn't have the I.V. in today and she rubs circles on his back. Groping for the perfect words to say and coming up empty, he settles for, "Love you, Mom. See you soon."**

**She's moving on to Peter now, Brian and Stewie backing up until they hit the wall so as to give them a modicum of privacy. Despite Peter's boorish attitude of just a few minutes ago, he's himself wears a verging-on-tragic expression.**

**He and Lois kiss for a long while. **

"**My big, handsome husband. Don't worry about me too much." **

**_______________________________________________________________________**

**Stewie doesn't realize that he's ravenously hungry until he's in the car, slumped over in his seat, Brian speeding them home. A couple hours prior, his mother came out of anesthesia in a post-op room, her surgery a success. She knew everybody and was even equal to conversing with them a little. Cleveland, Joe, and Bonny were there, too, and Lois's troupe of work-out buddies, including the hero Lydia who brought flowers.**

**Once sure he would not be detected, Stewie'd covertly slipped out into the hall and bawled his eyes out in relief. Only then did the queasiness he had woken up with that morning expire.**

**He and Brian make a pit stop at McDonald's drive thru (Peter stayed behind at the hospital, although he **_**did **_**swear to sleep at home that night), wolfing down their cheeseburgers in the course of achieving the few blocks to Spooner Street. They're too jittery to feel up to sitting and eating in a public place.**

**They kiss like crazy in the driveway of the house, celebrating life, tongues and limbs tangling feverishly. There's no lead up to it, no words afterward. They go into the house. Brain flops in front of the T.V. Stewie heads upstairs to grab a shower.**

**He rematerializes in the living room in fresh clothing, corduroys and black sneaks, topped off with a yellow polo shirt trimmed in red.**

"**I'm outie," he notifies Brian, who stares at him as if he's never heard anything more preposterous. Not Stewie's vernacular: that he's going somewhere **_**alone.**_

"**Where?" Brian demands, standing and tailing him to the door.**

**Stewie sneers at him. "I don't have to answer to you. You're not my boyfriend."**

**Which really, really sucks, but these days it's thornier than just whether they're getting along or not. Stewie wishes he could see their state of affairs from Brian's view, to be able to fathom his feelings and motivations. **

**It's bloody fucking confusing! Is Brian simply bi-curious or something? Is he using him as an experiment? **

**Brian takes a step forward and makes to kiss him goodbye, but Stewie dodges, fuming.**

"**No!" he shouts, "No! I'm not going to let you keep doing this! Brian, you need to make up your mind! God, how many times are you going to circle the freakin' airport before you land the damn plane?!"**

**Brian stares at him. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing emerges so he shuts it. After a moment he tries again with this gem:**

"**In that scenario, you're the airport and I'm the plane, right?"**

**Stewie rolls his eyes. "Goodnight, Brian. Don't wait up for me, okay?"**

**________________________________________________________________________**

**Bessie's Café Au Lait is packed tonight. The below ground nightclub has piss-poor lighting, the only brightness originating from lamps hung above individual tables, bathing customers in an eerie green-tinged luminosity. Stewie orders a decaf amaretto coffee and sits in a booth near the rear entrance of the big, square room.**

**There's a stage up front. This is a popular watering-hole, as it was, for people looking to exhibit their flair for music, poetry, comedy, for acting…and a place to catch some cheap entertainment, as there's no cover charge. The value of that entertainment, as one would expect, varies greatly: some performers are so movingly gifted that you can't believe they're some anonymous face in Quahog, Rhode Island. Others, you hope never quit their day jobs.**

**Stewie languidly takes a draft of his coffee and listens to the young lady reciting verse about suicide. Her delivery is good, but the whole thing is awfully depressing.**

**A hand suddenly lands on his shoulder and well-known and well-loved voice says in his ear, "When'd this place open up?"**

**He almost jumps about five feet in the air.**

"**What? Did you-did you **_**follow me here**_**?"**

**Brian slides into booth beside him. The poet has just finished reciting her verse, and all of Bessie's patrons snap their fingers in appreciation in lieu of applauding. Brian copies them just as artlessly as if he came to the joint all the time.**

"**How the devil did you know where I was?" Stewie demands, scowling as Brian reaches over and takes a sip from his cup.**

"**Huh. Yeah. I did follow you." **

**Stewie would be more freaked out if he didn't feel that Bria could always do with being a tad more obsessed with him. **

**Brian puts his hand over Stewie's on the table. "Can we go outside and talk for a moment?" **

**________________________________________________________________________**

**They walk around the side of the building and into a shallow alleyway, leaning against the wall of the shop next door. They can hear the muted sounds of Bessie's live entertainment as if from underwater; it's presently some strange sort of music issuing from what sounds something like an electrical harpsichord.**

**It's too humid tonight and feels like rain. Stewie, being a little forward, reaches forward and sticks his own hands in Brian's front khaki pockets, tracing with his thumbs around the edges of his belt buckle. He bows his head so they (Brian's only a couple inches shorter than him) can rest their foreheads together.**

"**I need to tell you something," Brian confesses, his voice low, private. "I…there's this guy in New York called Xan Reynolds. He called me yesterday to say that he wants to convert**_** Quotient of Bravery **_**into a play. A musical, actually…"**

**Okay, this isn't the confession Stewie'd been yearning for: he was hoping for something more along the lines of, 'I know how you feel about me, Stewie, and I feel exactly the same way'. He can't think what Brian's driving at with this, but he can't prevent grinning, either.**

"**That is just **_**spectacular**_**!" Stewie chortles, throwing back his head a little. "Brian- I can absolutely **_**see that. **_**That so works!"**

**Brian eyebrows crinkle at him, the skin between them pinching. "I'm not so persuaded. Why is it that everything I toil so hard for is always lampooned?"**

"**You say that like you're not used to it," says Stewie, smirking. "Besides, just because something's not what you had in mind in the beginning doesn't mean it's not a good idea." He loosens himself from their clinch and flashes Brian what he hopes is a piercing look, because he's not merely talking about the potential musical.**

**Brian regards him just as solemnly. "They want me there, in New York, as a sort of consultant. I'm going to go."**

**Stewie gapes at him. "You're…"**

"**I want you to go with me." And although Brian **_**must **_**be sure of him, after Stewie's formally declared his love, he sounds so meek phrasing his request. **

**To Stewie it's adorable and flattering, but these thoughts pale in comparison to how ecstatic he feels at being asked. Because they haven't even technically **_**dated, **_**and now they're getting a place together. Just like a real couple… **

**That **_**is **_**what they're doing here, isn't it? Having a relationship? Platonic friends don't behave with each other they have been lately. They don't flirt, or make out, or stand the way they're standing right now. Surely Brian's not asking Stewie to come to New York and be his regular **_**roommate**_**?**__**They…they would be sleeping together, right? And Brian wouldn't be crawling around bars looking for somebody else?**

**Brian, looking like his heart's in his mouth, is peering at him, and Stewie realizes he hasn't given him an answer.**

"**Yes, Brian. Oh my God, I'm so excited!" **

**Brian grins and his dark brown eyes glow. They're the color of melted chocolate, and just as sweet is the way Brian tilts Stewie's chin back and brings a hand up to lightly cup the side of his face.**

"**Stewie…I'm in love with you."**

**This is a categorical blissfully perfect moment. Stewie's happier than he's ever been, savoring the culmination of practically a lifetime of loving Brian…savoring the kiss that follows as far and away beyond compare, putting everything they have into it. In their jumbled lives, something important finally clicks into place.**

_**To be continued…**_

**Beware of asphyxiation by fluff! **

**I promise to make a conscious effort not to make Brain and Stewie too peaches-and-cream couple-y. I want to keep things interesting, even if they are 'together' now.**

**Comments, constructive criticize, and extravagant praise are all more than welcome!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Yes, super-speedy update, I know. Well, this was already written anyway, and I…got eager.**

**Second-to-last chappy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

All the evidence- an extra pair of shoes at the door, the T.V. left on and a bag of pork rinds left forsaken on the couch, not to mention the dead giveaway of his car parked in the drive- points to Peter being home.

Stewie having walked to Bessie's Café Au Lait, Brian gives him a lift back to the house, after their world-turning-upside down conversation. It was almost as though the clouds were holding back until they were safely installed in the car to let loose the torrential rainfall, heralded by the mugginess which had been pervading the air all day. The wind is kicking up and a storm appears in the pipeline as they sprint inside from the Prius.

"Um…I forgot to say," Brian babbles, feeling callow, "how nice you look." He gulps, motioning at Stewie's attire. "…In that outfit." It seems like something he should say, though he's not accustomed to complimenting other guys on their appearance.

The expression Brian sees on Stewie's face is a novel one; it's skeptical but gentled. The younger man gives a snort and shakes his head, messy auburn locks flying. Walking his fingers teasingly up and down Brian's chest, he purrs, "Flattery will get you everywhere…but not tonight."

In the upstairs hallway, they wish each other pleasant dreams. Peter is snoring away like a great big grizzly, a sonorous rumbling emanating from his and Lois's room as Brian watches Stewie go into his room and then wave to him around the door. Will Stewie be able to get to sleep, then? What about his insomnia? Brian recollects what Stewie said, about having to jack off in order to doze off…well, that's not really such an issue, is it? Brian flushes, and passes into was-Chris's-room-then-was-Lois's-office-is-now-his-own-bedroom. For a few more weeks, anyway.

He sits on his cot and pulls on his pajamas, musing about why he never bothered to purchase himself a proper bed. He's relieved he didn't now, of course, because he won't have to move it…That's it, isn't it? In spite of having dutifully gone out and found a job, the beginning of 'putting down roots' as Lois recommended he do…deep down, a part of him has been resisting it.

His suspicions are proved to have been accurate: Brian wasn't meant to fall back into his old life again. No, apparently, he was meant to pop back into town only long enough to fall for Stewie Griffin.

Emitting a yelp of laughter at the extraordinariness of his new situation, Brian, out of morbid curiosity, directs the remote at the little T.V. in the corner, and channel surfs until he alights on a show featuring a gorgeous woman in a skintight silk gown. She lies on a divan, smiling up seductively at a man who stands in her doorway, her sizable breasts heaving.

It's still exciting to Brian. Hence, he is still straight.

It isn't so much that Brian's attracted to Stewie as that the chemistry when they're together scrambles his circuits. Well, he _is _attracted to him, but not in the sense that if he saw him walking down the street, he'd want him. He's attracted to him because he loves him.

"Ha! Leave it to Stewie to be the exception to the rule!" Brian thinks out loud.

A clap of thunder is his only reply, so he goes in search of better company.

________________________________________________________________________

"Hi!" Stewie pipes, a little keyed up.

Without invitation, Brian comes all the way into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

"Scared of the storm?" jibes Stewie good-naturedly.

"Yes," Brian deadpans. "Hold me please?"

Stewie swats him on the arm but decides to take him at face value. He hugs Brian around the waist.

"Better?"

Brian gives him a squeeze and nuzzles into his hair. "Mm. Much."

"Is this a booty call? That might be problematic with the Fat Man in the next room," Stewie kids.

It's a stirring concept, so deliciously taboo to engage in relations under Stewie's folks' roof with one of them sleeping right next door. But he wouldn't actually go through with it; he's kind of ashamed of the inner deviant who found a rush in the idea.

"Unfortunately," says Brian.

Stewie's already huge eyes widen. "You do want to?"

"Well, yeah, when I said I wanted to be with you, I assumed that-y'know- we would be doing uh, _that_," Brian explains, slightly cross. "Sort of figures into the whole thing, doesn't it?"

Stewie goes and locks the door, anyway, for it wouldn't do for Peter to walk in on any display of affection between them, not just catching them _in flagrante. _

Brian lies down flat on his back on the bed and pats the mattress, the other arm extended to the side. Stewie snuggles up to him, settling his head on Brian's arm, turning his head and smiling tranquilly into his face.

"It's extraordinary," he says. Brian doesn't need to ask him what he means. An irresistible happiness floods his being.

They spend some time listening to the sounds of the storm, then Brian asks something he's been wondering since the day of the carnival.

"What happened to Rupert, Stewie?"

Stewie's relaxed form stiffens and his jaw clenches. He hesitates. "Brian- I'm twenty-two years old," he says with a transparent attempt at airiness.

Nuh-uh. There's a story here; Stewie ducking the question is too fishy.

"C'mon Stewie, I don't see you just throwing him out with garbage. You loved that bear."

Stewie wriggles around a little within his grip and begins to draw nonsense patterns on Brian's chest with his fingertip. His voice when he speaks is soft and vulnerable and very un-Stewie-like.

"It's…I don't relish recalling the incident. " His eyes covertly flit to Brian's. "But I _will _tell you." He inhales sharply, and Brian grasps that howsoever well they know each other, this is a whole new type of intimacy.

Stewie commences his tale:

"You always hear about senior year boys who take advantage of freshman girls? Well, he was a senior and a real badass, and…well, despite the _ginormous _combat boots he was so partial to, he was secretly light in the loafers. See, no one could find out, because that would ruin his tough reputation…" Stewie chuckles a little bitterly. "God, you think the world's progressed so much until…well, anyway.

Um, I was kind of going through a phase at the time; totally cliché, hanging under the bleachers smoking and shit. That's where we met. I expected him to hassle me, skinny, prissy freshman skulking around the 'cool kids' turf. But he wanted something else from me, it seems. Takes one to know one, I guess.

So he was pretty friendly to me and I was diggin' on him and…To make a long story short, I slept with him. He was my first."

Brian is biting his lower lip, listening attentively, concerned, because he obviously knows this story doesn't end well.

Stewie goes on, "Must not have been very good for him, though. If he'd been interested in a round two, he never would've sought to humiliate me and wreck my life. The next day he spread the rumor that I'd…come on to him, and of course he'd told me where to go, big, strong, red-blooded alpha-male that he was.

"Caught a lot flack for that, as you can probably imagine. But I had a couple other 'friends'," he puts up air quotes, "who claimed they didn't believe it all. So they were supposed to spend the night one weekend, and since they still showed up, I took their word for it that they didn't think I was going to molest them or anything…"

"Peter and Lois were gone that weekend. In a show of great parenting, they trusted me to be left alone. My little party started out hunky-dory, we were just chilling in my room- this room here- and I left to use the restroom. When I returned, they were basically going through my stuff. Tearing everything apart: pulling out dresser drawers, rooting around my book and music collections, they took my mattress off the box spring…They claimed they were looking for 'proof of my fag-ness'." Air quotes again.

Brian's stomach rolls in disgust and he holds tightly to Stewie.

"Oh, and they found plenty," Stewie relates, smiling tersely, his lips white around the edges. The invisible doodling on Brian's chest ceases; instead, he lays his palm over Brian's heart. "Madonna and Broadway cast albums, celebrity gossip magazines and poetry books, a fuzzy purple diary." He makes a sound like a motorboat.

"They _did _start to read that, but what seemed to offend them most was the teddy bear stowed beneath my bedcovers. I yelled at them and they…well, they tore his head off." Stewie finishes his dialogue hastily, as though the words burn in his throat, so he wants to fire them out as quickly as possible.

Brian, though, is the one who feels dampness on his cheek, and realizes that a tear has leaked from his own eye.

Stewie reaches up and wipes it away. "You are completely absurd," he mutters.

"Yeah, I know," Brian agrees, laughing hoarsely, feeling miserable. The pain Stewie must have endured in those day- it cut him as deeply as if it'd been his own. And that, that _utter irredeemable shitface _who'd screwed Stewie (literally and figuratively) so efficiently, his first lover…well, Brian wished he could rip _his _head off. "How…"

"Gay?" Stewie supplies, smiling weakly. "I sort of got one of my sleepover guests back, though. I broke his arm as he was leaving the house." There's a proud note to his voice.

"Good for you," says Brian approvingly. He hesitates before asking, "What was the name of the guy who…the senior?"

"Why?" Stewie quizzes dully, rolling onto his side and draping an arm across Brian's stomach. "Going to find him and avenge my honor?" It's like he read his mind.

Brian is silent. There is no longer the periodic slash of lightening across the sky outside, and the booming thunder has likewise stopped. Rain pelts the window and the wind continues to whip quite hard. He assumes their gloomy conversation has ended.

"His first name was Jeremy," Stewie says unexpectedly, "His mother's name is Lydia."

It occurs to Brian that he means- he _has_ to mean,

"Lois's friend? _That's _why you give her such dirty looks every time you see her…"

"It's not that conspicuous," Stewie argues, "I look at everybody that way most of the time."

"Did you ever tell Lois?"

Stewie huffs. "Most assuredly not. Lord knows the woman has her faults, but disloyalty to her family isn't one of them. Lois would never continue hanging around with her if she knew Lydia'd raised such a…." An unprecedented occurrence, as Stewie's gargantuan vocabulary fails to supply him a word harsh enough for Jeremy.

He closes his eyes. "Tired," he remarks.

The pad of Brian's thumb gently passes over his eyelids. "What happened to your insomnia?"

"I think you cured it."

"Thanks a lot!" Brian retorts, "Are you calling me boring?"

Stewie pries open an eye. "That's not what I meant at all," he promises groggily. "For many weeks now…everything's better with you here."

Funny, you wouldn't think that having the feel of your heart melting would be pleasant. It's with profound reluctance that Brian lifts the pliant arm from around him and settles it on the comforter, and hauls himself off of the bed, away from Stewie warm, welcoming body.

"I'm going back to my own room, now," he tells him.

"Hmm. Love you," Stewie murmurs sleepily. Brian unfolds the blanket at the foot of the bed and places it over his recumbent form, tucking him in rather like he used to do when Stewie was little. Circumstances have changed somewhat, however. Once or twice in those days, when Brian was certain Stewie was already dozing, he'd kiss him on the forehead. Tonight, he stoops and softly kisses his lips.

"I know. You've said," says Brian, a smile manifest in his voice.

"But I took it back," Stewie returns around a yawn.

" Yeah…didn't buy that for a second."

________________________________________________________________________

Brian is sitting with Lois at the hospital again after work. She's really looking forward to finally being released tomorrow.

"Thank God, I don't think I'd be able to stand much more!" she exclaims, sitting up and eating a little cup of mandarin oranges, some color restored to her face today, just looking altogether more alive. She's animated, too. "You can only spend so much time here before it starts seeming more like a sanatorium."

His visit come on the heels of that of her group of girlfriends, and Lois is keen to share their every topic of discussion: what color so-and-so is painting their den; plans for a Fourth of July barbeque that's almost three whole months in the future; how she's going shoe shopping with one of them, Maureen, as soon as she's fully recovered; and updates on the children of these women that Brian doesn't even know (well, he knows _of _one, but mercifully, the name Jeremy isn't mentioned).

Brian tunes out, his mind gladly wandering to Stewie, as is par for the course of late.

In fact, Brian is only snapped out of his reverie when he thinks he hears Lois say, "Will you take Stewie to bed?"

"What?" he cries, nearly falling out of his chair. When he manages to right himself, Lois narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Will you take Stewie to go get the bed?" she asks, a touch of impatience in her voice. "It'll take two of you to lift the thing, and I'd ask Peter to do it but, well…I'd like to have it for when I get home tomorrow and I don't want him skipping work any more than he normally does, anyway, at least not because of me."

Brian gives a snort of understanding, but has to ask, "Uh, what bed, though?"

"Brian!" exclaims Lois exasperatedly. "Haven't you been listening to a word I said? The hospital thinks it's a good idea for me to have a bed just like the one I'm in now when I first get home. There's a store that sells them in Waterbury, Connecticut. Will you go or not?" She crosses her arms and regards him irritably.

"Oh, yeah, sure, sure," Brian hurries to acquiesce. "Of course."

He'll go home, he and Stewie will pack their bags, and be on the road before dinner. It's a long drive, but they'll manage. They always have before.

When they get hungry, they'll pull off at a rest stop and load up on black coffee and smothered hash browns. When they get tired- or something- they'll pull off at a hotel.

The Road To Retrieve Lois's Bed is rife with potential…

_To be continued…_


	16. Chapter 16

**Alrighty, peoples, here we go! Final chapter! I've had a lot of fun writing this fic; if you've had fun reading it, please see my Author's Note at the end.**

**Also, if you were waiting for the chapter where the boys do the deed, this be it. Of course, the actual, *ahem* happens offscreen, but it's still the sexiest chapter of TOFP. **

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy.**

"Hey. Hey, Brian. Do you want to play the license plate game?"

"Really, really not, Stewie. Please. I'm trying to concentrate on the road."

Stewie pouts and consults the clock on the dash. It's just past 7 p.m. They've been driving for two hours and are nearly halfway to Waterbury.

Because when they reach their destination after 9, there's no way the medical equipment and supply store is going to be open, they'll have to find a hotel and pick up the bed in the morning. Behind them in the backseat of the car are two overnight bags.

In all likelihood, by the end of this night, Stewie will have finally gotten Brian into bed. And both of them know it.

The mood in the car is one of mingled excited apprehension and nervous impatience. The radio is tuned to a classical musical station, which has been stealing the conversation for the majority of the journey. Stewie is sick of it; he switches off _Liebestraum _and asks,

"Have you ever been to Waterbury before? As a former denizen of the state of Connecticut?"

Brian shakes his head. "I, uh, I haven't, actually. Timbleton, is, um, as I'm sure you know, over by Manchester. We never…when I was living there, I really never had any reason to go that far west."

"Where were you when Lois called you and asked you to come back?"

"Iowa," Brian answers flatly.

Stewie scrunches up his face. "Ew. What for?"

His companion laughs. "Well, I met this guy at a writers retreat who lives there and I figured, hell, I'll pay him a visit. I had to leave, though, and rent a room at the Motel 6 as soon as I found out he had a meth lab in his house. Anyway, it fit right into my plan to see all fifty states.

"So you have now?" Stewie questions, achingly jealous, because he wishes he could have been traveling with Brian when he was doing this.

Brian nods, eyes focused on the seemingly endless track of asphalt as they breeze along the interstate. "But not every country. There's a new mission."

Stewie beams. "One that we should conquer together. Someday?"

Brian turns and gives him a charming, crooked smile. Stewie's heart does flip-flops in his chest and his gut warms.

"Sounds good to me."

________________________________________________________________________

Nighttime city lights spread out before them when they cruise into town. They book a room at the first hotel they spot which looks affordable but not sleazy. A lone, king size bed occupies most of the space, and Stewie goes and sits gingerly atop the duvet, wondering what steps to take next, if they'll just start going at it.

He's only ever had sex. But this will be making love. This experience will be a unique one for him. Less so than for Brian, naturally, but regardless. It will stand far apart from other conquests because of the deep, deep emotions he feels for this man.

Stewie smiles timidly up at him.

Brian moves to position himself in front of Stewie. He bends forward and grasps the front of his shirt and tugs on it none too gently, encouraging him to stand up. Stewie catches his gaze, holds it, and obeys.

No sooner is he on his feet than Brian pulls him into his arms, their bodies flush up against one another's, lips crushed together.

One of Brian hands is threading its fingers through Stewie's hair, the other slips beneath the fabric of his shirt and caresses the skin at the small of his back.

A muffled whimper from Stewie. "God, yes…" He rests his head in the crook between Brian's shoulder and neck, exhaling wetly against the side of his throat.

Brian speaks very close to his ear, a faint note of hysteria in his voice:

"Let me know if this isn't what you want."

Stewie pulls back to give him a you've-gotta-be-kidding-me kind of expression.

"I don't do this," Brian murmurs, "with guys. I've never…"

"But I presume you _are_ familiar with the mechanics involved?" Stewie queries with a smirk. Brian laughs nervously and squeezes him tighter. Stewie feels how tense the other man's body is, but still can't quite take pity on him.

"Hmm. I wish it wasn't so dark. I bet you're blushing. I want to see you blush."

"Sadist," Brian growls. He keeps moving his fingers through Stewie's hair, massaging with the perfect pressure.

Stewie gives a tiny moan. "Not in bed, I'm not."

They kiss some more, Brian's reservations seeming to ease somewhat in the face of his passion. There is no doubt that he is _very_ interested in the proceedings, Stewie thinks, with more than a hint of smugness, as he insinuates one of his legs between Brian's thighs and rubs. Brian gasps and curses.

Their lips connect and separate, over and again, hard and slapdash, tongues licking everywhere in the cavern of the other's mouth, teeth scraping, and it's not about technique and it's _so good._ They're laughing and wrestling each other out of their clothes. Stewie tumbles backward onto the mattress, pulling Brian down on top of him.

"Now, no performance anxiety," Stewie quips, "Go to it, big boy. Anything…"

"Damn straight, anything," Brian interrupts, panting. "You talk too much. Grab the headboard, Stewie."

_______________________________________________________________________

Meg's car is pulled up to the curb as Stewie and Brian steal out of the garage, both trying to put on a casual attitude and Brian apparently endeavoring to wipe the color off of his face, his hands unwisely rubbing at his flushed cheeks.

Stewie snatches his arms and yanks them down. "Stop that! You're only making it worse." He sneaks a glance at the placket of Brian's pants. "And XYZ."

Brian looks quickly down and pulls up the zip on his fly. "Oh, God. Yeah, thanks." He runs a hand nervously through his short-cropped hair.

As they walk toward the house, Stewie is much better at keeping in-control of himself; honestly, he finds his share of humor in the situation. He's really of two minds about the whole thing: on the one hand, he enjoys feeling like he's pulling one over on his family (not like that's so challenging), the clandestineness of it. On the other, he's dying for Brian to drop the bomb- he's insisted on being the one- so they can come out as a legitimate couple.

It's been two weeks since they spent the night together in that hotel. Two weeks of sneaking around, because none of the family know that they are together. Brian hasn't even sprung it on the family yet that he's leaving in five days- and taking Stewie with him. It's not standard Stewie to care about such things, but he can't but think that it's bad-manners if Brian's planning on waiting until the very day of departure, saying something to his hosts like:

"Oh, yes, I'm leaving today. Going to New York. Oh, and by the way, I'm also abducting your son: see that's him waving to you from inside the car right now. Yeah, I've, uh, kind of been doing him, so…Right. 'Bye!"

As they stand outside the door, Stewie asks Brian, "I say, do you have a breath mint? My mouth tastes like your-"

Brian cuts him off with a look. Stewie is about to retort- after all, who can hear him?- but at that precise instant, Lois opens the door from the inside.

"There you are! I was just about to come looking for you." She sounds agitated.

"Lois…what's wrong?" asks Brian uneasily.

"Meg," is her one word response, and she hold the door for them and steps back, allowing them admittance into the house.

________________________________________________________________________

Meg has brought Dean over and introduced him to her family as her husband.

He, surprisingly or not, hits it off with Peter right away, after the Fat Man learns that Dean's band, S. Sik, is a Kiss tribute band, and Meg's new hubby is as worshipful a fan as he is.

"Oh, and, and…" Stewie mentions, overhearing them, "S. Sik is- kind of- 'Kiss' spelled backward. Oh, clever, clever!" He croons sarcastically.

Lois smiles grimly and hands him a plate of crackers smeared with sandwich spread. They are all in the backyard, having a cookout. Peter and Dean are on the patio, stationed at the grill, and Lois indicates that her youngest son should follow her away from them.

"I don't know what she was thinking!" Lois raves sotto voce to Stewie, stalking across the yard. Even with his long legs, Stewie has to make an effort to keep up with her. "I mean, sure, Wendy was a dweeb. But this man's just awful! And the smell of him!" Meg is standing over by the fence, and Lois heads straight for her, no doubt to criticize Dean to her daughter's face. Stewie doesn't follow.

He looks back at his father and new brother-in-law. Dean is thoughtfully scratching his soul patch and Stewie can still hear him and Peter discuss very seriously their mutual belief in- and fear of- Mole People.

Brian is in a lawn chair in the middle of the yard and Stewie goes over to join him.

Stewie says, lowering himself to the ground, "You know what? Meg has essentially married Peter."

Brian shudders. "That's disturbing."

Stewie leans back against Brian's legs, looking round and holding up a cracker. Brian bends down and opens his mouth and Stewie feeds him the hors d'oeuvre. Sensing someone watching them, Stewie lifts his head and peers across the yard at his mother, the shrewd gleam in her eye at contrast with the almost sad set of her facial features. Stewie straightens up, no longer resting the full weight of his upper body on Brian's legs, and quirks a daring eyebrow at her.

Her mouth falls open slightly, then tightens, her brow furrowing. She swiftly resumes talking to Meg

______________________________________________________________________

The next morning, as Stewie approaches the kitchen, in the mood to make chocolate chip pancakes for his house mates, he is stopped just short of the doorway to that room by the stifled sound of voices- Brian's and Lois's. Stewie hangs back to eavesdrop, flattening his body up against the wall, cupping a hand to his ear.

"So…that's pretty much, um, what the situation is…" Brian is saying.

_Oh, my God, _thinks Stewie_. It's _this _conversation_.

He boldly advances further toward the kitchen, craning his head around the doorjamb. Neither of the inhabitants of the room notice him; Lois, he sees, has her back to him, sitting at the table in a chair, staring out the window above the sink. Brian is standing beside the counter opposite her, but he does not look to the left where Stewie is peeping around the corner. He doesn't look up at all- he appears to be engrossed in contemplating the skin cells on his arm.

There is absolute silence. Then…

"What do you want from me, Brian?" Lois asks in a bland, tired voice.

"I don't know- _some_ kind of reaction."

Lois studies him evenly. Her fingers tap against the side of her coffee mug. "Okay," she says finally, and places it down on the tabletop, clasps her hands together on her knees and takes a breath.

"WHAT THE HELL, BRIAN?!" she roars, "I MEAN, _WHAT THE FUCKING HELL? _You're a sicko, you know that? A total perv! Where…where is this coming from?! True, we've dealt with our share of dysfunction in this family, but boy, this takes the cake doesn't it? Maybe you mistake my passivity for stupidity but if you think- if you think for one instant- that I'm not aware of just how…_depraved _this is, that I'm going to be okay with it…."

"No, no, no!" Brian interrupts hurriedly, "Lois, I don't…"

"Hey, maybe I am an idiot, though, huh?" she shouts over him, "Maybe you've been attracted to my son for years and I just never noticed. You've known him since he was born, haven't you, Brian?"

At that moment, Stewie bursts into the room, boiling with anger.

"Don't you talk to him that! There's _nothing_ wrong with us being together! I love him, Mother! He loves me, too. We're going to-"

Brian lays his head on the countertop and covers it with his hands, muttering incoherent things.

Lois cuts him off. "'Love'? Oh, Stu, please don't tell me it's gotten that far!" She groans. "You two weren't meant to love each other like this. I know how you used to idolize him…"

Brian straightens, up, shaking his head so frenetically that Stewie fears he'll give himself whiplash. "Bad, very bad. I was right, we should've waited until the day we left. Or not have said anything at all. They would've figured it out eventually. Or not. And that would've been okay, too."

Stewie snorts and grabs his hand, interlocking their fingers together.

"This is _Brian_," Lois goes on, still seeing red, "He's incapable of sustaining a relationship, Stu, he's just using you-"

"Hang on there, a minute Lois," Brian interrupts her, and his voice at the same time stony and full of dedication. "I would never _ever _even begin to possibly consider treating Stewie like that! How dare you accuse me of using him? It may be hard for you to believe right now- in fact I'm pretty damn sure you don't _want_ to believe it- but this isn't merely a casual arrangement to me. Stewie's telling the truth. I do love him. And I'll take good care of him."

"Mother," Stewie tries to keep as soft a tone as possible, "Come on. At the hospital you said that Brian was irreversibly a part of the family. You're not going to turn your back on him now, are you? Especially when he makes me so happy?"

"Oh…_Stu_," Lois sighs, "You know I want only happiness for my children…but _this_," she motions to the two of them, her gaze concentrated like a laser beam on their linked hands. "It's too weird! I'm not…I'm not ready to see this yet!"

Stewie inclines his head. "Very well. We'll find someplace else to stay for the next few days if you can't deal with it," he says coolly.

There's a pause, and then Lois grudgingly protests, "Don't be silly. I'm not kicking you out…_either _of you." She fixes a belligerent look on a Brian, that implies the unsaid, _even though I should._

"But you can't share a bedroom, obviously. Not in this house. I will not condone any hanky-panky going on."

"Oh, Mother," Stewie rolls his eyes. "You did _not_ just use the term 'hanky-panky'."

"I mean…it's not as if you don't have self control," she adds doubtfully. "Every time I turn around, I'm not going to find you canoodling in some part of the house?"

"Well…" Stewie trails off suggestively.

"Yyou…you!" Lois sputters, shaking her finger at him, "You just wait until your father gets home, young man!" She throws up her hands in exasperation, makes a noise like 'arrgh!', and after glaring sharply at the couple one more time, storms out of the kitchen.

Brian is still looking pale and shell shocked. Stewie tugs on his hand and leads him outside and into the backyard. There is a hammock strung beneath two trees near Lois's rose garden, and Stewie clambers into it, folding his arms comfortably behind his head. Brian stands over him.

"Are you determined to cause your mother some sort of lasting mental trauma?"

"I really don't see what all the hullabaloo is about." Stewie shrugs.

Brian sighs and tentatively climbs into the hammock to join him. "Will this hold both of us?"

"It holds Peter," replies Stewie, knowing there's no more ringing endorsement for the hammock's sturdiness.

Brian squirms, making himself more comfortable.

"So judging by way you were talking to Lois back there, I guess you're pretty serious about me, huh?" Stewie hedges, smirking. With his foot, he strokes Brian's ankle.

Brian guffaws. "Oh. Yeah. If you'd be so kind as to help me later, I've been busy picking out our wedding china."

He turns as though feeling Stewie's scowl on him, and his jesting countenance becomes suddenly solemn.

"This has to work out, Stewie. If we were- if we were to, to break up…I don't know that we could ever go back to being just friends."

"Oh, I have no intention of ever letting you go," Stewie returns unflappably, attempting to assuage his worry. "I'd be more likely to kill you first." He continues, chuckling menacingly. He pauses, then amends his own assertion.

"Actually, if anybody ever hurts you again in this life, Brian, I'll take care of it. I promise you, they'll never find the body."

Brian shivers almost undetectably next to him. "Um…thanks, I guess."

They start talking about New York. Brian has already phoned Xan Reynolds and asked for Stewie to be tacked on as a consultant like himself. He proclaims that they are delighted to have him, with his degree in theatre, but the younger man wants something more.

"Can't you get me a role in the musical, B-rye?" he coos, "Preferably the lead?"

"No dice, Stewie," Brian laughs, looking more carefree and contented than Stewie's ever seen him. "You'll have to audition just like everybody else."

"Hmph. Even though I'm banging the guy who wrote the book the blasted thing is based on?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, after we settle into our place in New York, can we at least get a cat?"

"We certainly can't get a dog; you might fall in love with it," Brian sardonically notes.

Stewie glares at him and roughly jabs him in the ribs with his finger. Brian grunts and seizes Stewie's wrist.

The young man struggles (not very convincingly) to free himself as he assures Brian, "It's not like I make a habit of it. I would never have fallen in love with the first one, if I'd had a choice. I pined away for the bastard for almost my entire life…"

"Awww…" Brain interrupts, pulling his lower lip over his upper in a sad face.

"…before anything happened between us," Stewie finishes, shifting so he can lay his head on Brian's shoulder. Brian curls an arm around him and idly strokes his hair.

"We'll see about the cat."

_**Fin**_

**Author's Note (s): The town of Quahog being fictional, it is not on any map and I have no idea where precisely it's supposed to be in Rhode Island (have they ever said on the show?), thus its relative distance to places like Waterbury. I made the best educated guess that I could in figuring how long Brian and Stewie's trip would take. I also don't know if there's a place in Waterbury, CT that sells hospital beds, but 20 + years in the future, who knows, there might be.**

**I'm quite undecided as to whether I should write a sequel for this. Hopefully you found the end of TOFP palatable, but…what do you think? Room for more? Or would that give you indigestion?**

**If you have an opinion about this, please visit my profile and vote in the poll I'll have set up: Should There Be A Sequel To ****The Old Familiar Places****? Keep in mind, that if I **_**do **_**decide to make one, the first chapter won't be posted for a couple months. I honestly have no clue what the plot would be. **

**For every review I've received, for every fav/alert add, I'm very sincerely grateful. Thank you sooooo much!!! Love, peace, hugs, kisses to all of you!!!**


End file.
